


Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Slytherin Edition)

by AliceFour46



Series: Harry Potter (Slytherin Edition) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, Slytherin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 110,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22999468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceFour46/pseuds/AliceFour46
Summary: Harry Potter learns that Sirius Black has escaped from the prison of Azkaban and is planning to kill him. He and his best friends, Draco and Michael, uncover the truth that Draco's parents were hiding from them all along.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Harry Potter (Slytherin Edition) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566304
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Three Way Journal

Harry Potter was no ordinary boy. In fact, he was as unordinary as one could get. He was a wizard. His unordinariness got him into heaps of trouble with his family, his uncle and aunt who were as normal as can be. That’s why Harry was curled up under his blanket at midnight, flash-light in his hand, doing his homework for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

“Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises.”

Harry read sleepily, his quill hovering over a bit of parchment he was supposed to write his essay on. 

He had dreamt that night that Aunt and Uncle Dursley were running after Harry with pitchforks through a medieval sort of village, holding flaming torches in hand. Second later, Dudley; his fat, spoiled cousin; was pointing and laughing at him as he was burning on the stake. But all he felt was a gentle tickling. 

He understood why so many witches and wizards didn’t want anything to do with muggles and muggle-borns, because of the history of prejudice. And the kind of prejudice he was still experiencing, himself, living with his ordinary muggle family over his summer holidays. 

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him. To their fury, they had been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts. The most they could do, however, was to lock away Harry’s spell books, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the summer break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors. 

This separation from his spell books had been a real problem for Harry, because his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry detention for a month. Harry had therefore seized his chance in the first week of the holidays. 

While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon’s new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too), Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books, and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn’t leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by night. Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because he’d received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school vacation. 

Cedric Munroe, Harry’s Quidditch captain and his best friend’s, Michael’s, brother, was a pure-blood wizard who never even heard of the word “telephone”, let alone use one. Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call. 

“Vernon Dursley speaking.” 

Harry, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as he heard Cedric’s voice answer.

“HELLO… HELLO THERE… CAN HARRY POTTER HEAR ME? HELLO? Goodness, Michael, how do you work this thing?” 

Cedric yelled so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm. 

“WHO IS THIS?” he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. “WHO ARE YOU?” 

“OH, WHY, HELLO THERE OLD CHAP, I’M CEDRIC MUNROE…” 

“It’s probably Harry’s uncle,” another voice chimed in. It was quieter but Harry recognised it as Michael’s. 

“Oh, of course, I don’t expect a muggle to know who I am, silly me…” Cedric gave a lighthearted laugh, “HELLO, YES, WOULD IT BE… POSSIBLE… TO SPEAK… TO HARRY POTTER? MY LITTLE BROTHER IS HIS FRIEND FROM SCHOOL…”

Uncle Vernon’s small eyes swiveled around to Harry, who was rooted to the spot. 

“THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!” he roared, now holding the receiver at arm’s length, as though frightened it might explode. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON’T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!” 

And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider. The fight that had followed had been one of the worst ever. 

“HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE- PEOPLE LIKE YOU!” Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying Harry with spit. 

“Would you rather they sent me an owl?” Harry tilted his head. 

“Don’t be cheeky… you… you insolent boy! This stupid school has turned you into a right misfit.”

The phone rang again. 

Vernon was frozen to the spot, his expression drooping. He looked like he was about to explode. 

Marching over to the telephone, he picked it up and yelled, “WHAT DID I TELL YOU! STOP. CALLING. THIS. HOUSEHOLD!” there was a pause, “Oh, I’m so sorry… Sorry, Marge,” he gave a nervous chuckle, “those telemarketers, you know how persistent they are…” 

Harry’s mood was worsened by this. He thought that Michael would have more sense using the telephone. He didn’t expect Cedric to be the one to call. He was the worst person to represent Harry’s school friends to his muggle family. Now he looked like even more of a freak. 

Harry hadn’t received any letters from Michael, though. But his other best friend, Draco Malfoy, sent him a few during the past five weeks. It made his life more bearable, even if he couldn’t reply. 

“What did I tell you about that stupid bird of yours!” Uncle Vernon roared one evening, after Hedwig made a right fuss in her cage. 

“If I could let her out now and again, she wouldn’t be a problem…” Harry said quickly. 

Vernon looked at his wits end. “Fine, but only at night! If I ever see that stupid bird around I’ll shoot it, I swear I will!” 

So Harry was allowed to let Hedwig out for several weeks now, which was a big relief. He could send letters to his friends, and Hedwig could stretch her wings. 

Harry finished writing about Wendelin the Weird under his covers and paused to listen. The silence in the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, Dudley. It must be very late, Harry thought. His eyes were itching with tiredness. Perhaps he’d finish this essay tomorrow night… 

He replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillowcase from under his bed; put the flashlight, A History of Magic, his essay, quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid the lot under a loose floorboard under his bed. Then he stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on his bedside table. It was one o’clock in the morning. 

Harry’s stomach gave a funny jolt. He had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour. Yet another unusual thing about Harry was how little he looked forward to his birthdays. He had never received a birthday card in his life. The Dursleys had completely ignored his last two birthdays, and he had no reason to suppose they would remember this one. 

Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig’s large, empty cage, to the open window. He leaned on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on his face after a long time under the blankets. Hedwig had been absent for two nights now. Harry wasn’t worried about her: she’d been gone this long before. But he hoped she’d be back soon. She was the only living creature in this house who didn’t flinch at the sight of him. 

Harry, though still rather small and skinny for his age, had grown a few inches over the last year. His jet-black hair, however, was just as it always had been... stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it. The eyes behind his glasses were bright green, and on his forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning. He got it when he was still a baby, after Lord Voldemort killed his parents and failed to kill him too. Although his Aunt and Uncle convinced him for the longest time that they died in a car crash and that's where he got his scar.

Harry gazed out into the night sky, hoping to see a sign of Hedwig, of her bringing a dead rat and expecting praise. But what he saw was three owls instead of one. Squinting to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he saw Hedwig, an eagle-owl and another owl Harry didn’t recognise. A handsome tawny one. 

Harry opened his windows up more to let all three of them in. Hedwig was holding a parcel and a letter, so was the eagle-owl, along with a rolled up newspaper article. Harry recognised it as Klaus, it belonged to Draco Malfoy. The one Harry didn’t recognise, though, was holding a letter with Hogwarts’ crest on it, and a rather big looking package. 

Harry felt excitement rush over him. It was like receiving a bunch of presents for his birthday. He wasn’t used to this at all. 

He took out some water for all three owls to drink after their long flight, and some dried worms he had for Hedwig, before picking up Draco’s letter first. 

“Dear Harry, Happy Birthday, hope you like my present. By the way, this article from the Daily Prophet should give you a good laugh. Can you believe it, out of everyone it had to be the Weasleys. I was laughing for a good half hour after reading this… also, Father said that you’re welcome to spend the rest of the holidays with us. Let me know when you can, of course. Sincerely, Draco Malfoy.” 

If it wasn’t for the sudden intrigue and nervousness of Draco mentioning the Weasleys like this, Harry would have been excited. Of course he wanted to go and stay with Draco. Even if it was with Mr. Malfoy. Anywhere would be better than here. 

He quickly picked up the Daily Prophet, and unrolled it.

“MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE 

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. 

A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, “We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank.” The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.” 

Harry scanned the moving photograph, and a grin spread across his face as he saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously at him, standing in front of a large pyramid. Plump little Mrs. Weasley; tall, balding Mr. Weasley; six sons; and one daughter, all (though the black-and-white picture didn’t show it) with flaming-red hair. 

Right in the middle of the picture was Ron, tall and gangling, with his pet rat on his shoulder and his arm around his little sister, Ginny. 

He felt relief spread over him. He was sure it would’ve been something bad by how amusing Draco found it, but he was truly happy for them. They deserved it. 

Harry now turned to his present and unwrapped it. Inside was a Broomstick Servicing Kit. There was another note from Draco beneath it. 

“Didn’t know what to send, then saw this in Diagon Alley and thought it’d be perfect. We’re going to beat Gryffindor together at Quidditch this year, they’ll be fuming. Just you wait...” 

“Wow…” Harry couldn’t help but say aloud. There was a large jar of Fleetwood’s High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver TailTwig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip on your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare. It looked expensive, like Harry wasn’t really worthy of such a good present. He missed Quidditch probably just as much as he missed his friends. It was a dangerous sport, but it was the only thing that Harry truly excelled at, at school. His broomstick, Nimbus 2001, was a gift from Draco’s father, Mr. Malfoy, to the Slytherin team, too. And it was one of his most prized possessions. He still had his Nimbus 2000, too, but he chose to leave it at Hogwarts in the broom shed. He didn’t think Uncle Vernon would be too pleased if he was to show up back to Privet Drive with two brooms. 

Harry put the leather case aside and picked up his next parcel. He recognised Michael’s neat writing and looked at Hedwig. Hedwig looked proud of herself. So that’s why she was gone for so long. After delivering his letter to Draco, she flew all the way to the Munroe Manor to make sure that Harry got something from Michael too. Harry smiled and stroked her feathers. “Thank you, Hedwig. This is the best birthday I’ve had since I found out I was a wizard…” 

Hedwig leaned into his hand as he stroked her happily. 

It was true; last year he didn’t get anything for his birthday besides a very angry Uncle Vernon barring his windows after a house elf named Dobby tried to stop him from going back to Hogwarts and stealing his letters. 

Harry decided to read the letter first. 

“Dear Harry, I hope you’re having a good birthday despite your family and everything, and I hope that you didn’t get into too much trouble after me and Cedric tried to communicate with you in that red box. He was adamant about being the one to call you, I knew it would’ve been a bad idea but you know what he’s like. Anyway, I hope my present can cheer you up some, I got the idea from last year. Remember Riddle’s Diary? And how I thought it might be a communication journal at first? I thought it would be cool for me, you and Draco to have one so we could all communicate no matter where we are. They are three-way enchanted journals, so whatever you write both me and Draco will be able to see. The ink will change colour depending which journal it’s written in. Yours is scarlet, mine is black and Draco’s is green. The writing will disappear after a few days though, so you will never run out of pages. Anyway, hope you write something shortly. And I’ll see you soon. Love, Michael.” 

Harry smiled and rushed to open the package that came with the letter. Inside was a book that looked similar to how Riddle’s Diary looked, but his was bound with dark red leather with a letter H embedded on it. It already felt like it belonged to him. He quickly took his quill out, eager to try it, and wrote, “Hello. Thank you for my presents, I love them. I can’t wait to see you guys soon.” 

He paused. Unlike Riddle’s Diary, this book didn’t soak up the ink. He left it open on his desk as he proceeded to his final package. He recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, but before he could unwrap it properly, the parcel gave a strange quiver, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly, as though it had jaws. Harry froze. He knew that Hagrid would never send him anything dangerous on purpose, but then, Hagrid didn’t have a normal person’s view of what was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs, and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin. 

Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the rest of the wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled. And out fell... a book. Harry just had time to register its handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of Monsters, before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab. 

“Uh-oh,” Harry muttered. The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room. Harry followed it stealthily. The book was hiding in the dark space under his desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast asleep, Harry got down on his hands and knees and reached toward it. 

“Ouch!” The book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him, still scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himself forward, and managed to flatten it. Uncle Vernon gave a loud, sleepy grunt in the room next door. Hedwig and Errol watched interestedly as Harry clamped the struggling book tightly in his arms, hurried to his chest of drawers, and pulled out a belt, which he buckled tightly around it. The Monster Book shuddered angrily, but could no longer flap and snap, so Harry threw it down on the bed and reached for Hagrid’s card. 

“Dear Harry, Happy Birthday! Think you might find this useful for next year. Won’t say no more here. Tell you when I see you. Hope the Muggles are treating you right. All the best, Hagrid” 

It struck Harry as ominous that Hagrid thought a biting book would come in useful, but he put Hagrid’s card up next to Draco’s and Michael’s, grinning more broadly than ever. 

Now there was only the letter from Hogwarts left. Noticing that it was rather thicker than usual, Harry slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within, and read: 

“Dear Mr. Potter, 

Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King’s Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o’clock. Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign. A list of books for next year is enclosed. 

Yours sincerely, 

Professor M. McGonagall 

Deputy Headmistress” 

Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form and looked at it, no longer grinning. It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade on weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot there. But how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the form? 

He looked over at the alarm clock. It was now two o’clock in the morning. 

Harry glanced over at his journal. Neither of his friends had replied yet; it made sense, they were probably sleeping. Still, Harry felt grateful. He had a way to talk to Draco and Michael without having to wait for an owl, or teach them how to use telephones. With a smile still on his face, he collected all his new items and hid them under his floorboards and some under his bed, before heading off to sleep. 

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up rather early and rushed to get his journal out from the floorboards. He opened up to the first page where he had written, and saw that there was still no reply. 

‘They’re probably still sleeping,’ thought Harry.

He closed up his floorboard, figuring he shouldn’t leave even an ordinary looking journal lying around. If Dudley got his fat hands on it… though Harry doubted he would. He’d grown too lazy to walk into the kitchen to grab more food, let alone go rummaging through Harry’s stuff. He spent the whole summer in front of the new television in the kitchen, so he wouldn’t have to worry about the trip to the fridge. 

Harry sat down for breakfast between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of mustache. Far from wishing Harry a happy birthday, none of the Dursleys made any sign that they had noticed Harry enter the room, but Harry was far too used to this to care. He helped himself to a piece of toast and then looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict. 

“...the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately.” 

“No need to tell us he’s no good,” snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. “Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!” 

He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry, whose untidy hair had always been a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man on the television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, Harry felt very well groomed indeed. 

Petunia, meanwhile, was already glancing outside already, probably hoping to get the chance to call the hotline herself. She was a very nosy woman, always spying on her neighbours over the garden fence. At the ready to find even the smallest thing to gossip about. 

“When will they learn,” said Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his large purple fist, “that hanging’s the only way to deal with these people?” 

“Very true,” said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into next door’s runner-beans. Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his watch, and added, “I’d better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge’s train gets in at ten.” 

Harry, whose thoughts had been upstairs with the Broomstick Servicing Kit, was brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump. 

“Aunt Marge?” he blurted out. “Sh-she’s not coming here, is she?” 

Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon’s sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Harry’s (whose mother had been Aunt Petunia’s sister), he had been forced to call her “Aunt” all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn’t often stay at Privet Drive, because she couldn’t bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits stood out horribly vividly in Harry’s mind. At Dudley’s fifth birthday party, Aunt Marge had whacked Harry around the shins with her walking stick to stop him from beating Dudley at musical statues. A few years later, she had turned up at Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Harry. On her last visit, the year before Harry started at Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally trodden on the tail of her favorite dog. Ripper had chased Harry out into the garden and up a tree, and Aunt Marge had refused to call him off until past midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears of laughter to Dudley’s eyes. 

“Marge’ll be here for a week,” Uncle Vernon snarled, “and while we’re on the subject,” he pointed a fat finger threateningly at Harry, “we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her.” 

Dudley smirked and withdrew his gaze from the television. Watching Harry being bullied by Uncle Vernon was Dudley’s favorite form of entertainment. 

“Firstly,” growled Uncle Vernon, “you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head when you’re talking to Marge.” 

“All right,” said Harry bitterly, “if she does when she’s talking to me.” 

“Secondly,” said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry’s reply, “as Marge doesn’t know anything about your abnormality, I don’t want any... any funny stuff while she’s here. You behave yourself, got me?” 

“I will if she does,” said Harry through gritted teeth. 

“And thirdly,” said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face, “we’ve told Marge you attend St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.” 

“What?” Harry yelled. 

“And you’ll be sticking to that story, boy, or there’ll be trouble,” spat Uncle Vernon. Harry sat there, white-faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon, hardly able to believe it. Aunt Marge coming for a weeklong visit... it was the worst birthday present the Dursleys had ever given him, including that pair of Uncle Vernon’s old socks. 

And so, Uncle Vernon set out to pick Aunt Marge up from the train station. Before he could leave, though, Harry, who had been sitting in a kind of horrified trance, had a sudden idea. Abandoning his toast, he got quickly to his feet and followed Uncle Vernon to the front door. 

Uncle Vernon was pulling on his car coat. 

“I’m not taking you,” he snarled as he turned to see Harry watching him. 

“Like I wanted to come,” said Harry coldly. “I want to ask you something.” 

Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously. 

“Third years at Hog- at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes,” said Harry. 

“So?” snapped Uncle Vernon, taking his car keys from a hook next to the door. 

“I need you to sign the permission form,” said Harry in a rush. 

“And why should I do that?” sneered Uncle Vernon. 

“Well,” said Harry, choosing his words carefully, “it’ll be hard work, pretending to Aunt Marge I go to that St. Whatsits…” 

“St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys!” bellowed Uncle Vernon, and Harry was pleased to hear a definite note of panic in Uncle Vernon’s voice. 

“Exactly,” said Harry, looking calmly up into Uncle Vernon’s large, purple face. “It’s a lot to remember. I’ll have to make it sound convincing, won’t I? What if I accidentally let something slip?” 

“You’ll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won’t you?” roared Uncle Vernon, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. 

But Harry stood his ground. “Knocking the stuffing out of me won’t make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her,” he said grimly. 

Uncle Vernon stopped, his fist still raised, his face an ugly puce. 

“But if you sign my permission form,” Harry went on quickly, “I swear I’ll remember where I’m supposed to go to school, and I’ll act like a Mug- like I’m normal and everything.” Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon was thinking it over, even if his teeth were bared and a vein was throbbing in his temple. 

“Right,” he snapped finally. “I shall monitor your behavior carefully during Marge’s visit. If, at the end of it, you’ve toed the line and kept to the story, I’ll sign your ruddy form.” 

He wheeled around, pulled open the front door, and slammed it so hard that one of the little panes of glass at the top fell out. 

Harry went straight to his room to put his birthday cards away and let Hedwig out. He told her to go spend some time with Draco and Klaus and that he was going to miss her. But Aunt Marge couldn’t know that she was here. If he was going to be a muggle for a week, he’d better start acting like one now. 

Except… the journal. 

Harry got the leather book out from under the floorboards and opened it. 

There was a reply in green, Draco’s colour. 

“Hey, Harry. Glad you liked your present. Isn’t this journal fantastic? Are you coming to our Manor by the way?” 

Harry smiled. He reached for his quill and ink bottle, and began to write. “Yes, Michael’s brilliant for thinking of this. And I need to get a signature from my uncle for Hogsmeade. He’s only going to sign it if I pretend to be part of some stupid centre for criminal boys or whatever for a week. I sent Hedwig to live with you for a bit if that’s okay. You know how they are… Muggles...” 

He waited. It took a couple of minutes, but Draco replied. “That’s stupid. Muggles are the worst. When you do get that signature give him a good kick for me.” 

Harry was about to start writing, when black ink appeared on the page. 

“I’m glad you like the journal, Harry. I thought this would be the most efficient way of communicating. I don’t know how muggles use those telephone things. And I’m sorry you have to put up with your uncle.” 

It was Michael. Harry smiled. He began to write, “It’s okay. It’s only another week. Just one week and I can go spend the rest of the summer with Draco.”

Green ink appeared after his, “Yeah, Michael, you should come too. Father says that it’ll be good for me to spend more time with my friends over the summer holiday. It’s been soooo boring... We can practice quidditch too.”

Harry was beaming. One week. Just one. He couldn’t wait. All horrible that was about to happen would all be worth it in the end. 

* * *

Marge was a hefty woman, if you could even call her that. She had a small mustache and was a mirror image of Vernon Dursley. When she saw Harry her expression was sour. He hoped and prayed that maybe this year, she had lost all interest in him and would pretend that he didn’t exist. To Harry’s dismay, this was not the case. 

“So!” she barked. “Still here, are you?” 

“Yes,” said Harry. 

“Don’t you say “yes” in that ungrateful tone,” Aunt Marge growled. “It’s damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn’t have done it myself. You’d have gone straight to an orphanage if you’d been dumped on my doorstep.” 

Harry was bursting to say that he’d rather live in an orphanage than with the Dursleys, but the thought of the Hogsmeade form stopped him. He forced his face into a painful smile. 

“Don’t you smirk at me!” boomed Aunt Marge. “I can see you haven’t improved since I last saw you. I hoped school would knock some manners into you.” 

She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her mustache, and said, “Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?” 

“St. Brutus’s,” said Uncle Vernon promptly. “It’s a first-rate institution for hopeless cases.” 

“I see,” said Aunt Marge. “Do they use the cane at St. Brutus’s, boy?” she barked across the table. 

“Er-” 

Uncle Vernon nodded curtly behind Aunt Marge’s back. 

“Yes,” said Harry. Then, feeling he might as well do the thing properly, he added, “All the time.” 

“Excellent,” said Aunt Marge. “I won’t have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what’s needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?” 

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry, “loads of times.” 

Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes. “I still don’t like your tone, boy,” she said. “If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren’t hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I’d write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy’s case.” 

Perhaps Uncle Vernon was worried that Harry might forget their bargain; in any case, he changed the subject abruptly. “Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?” 

As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught himself thinking almost longingly of life at number four without her. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of Hogsmeade, writing to his friends in his three way journal and his broomstick servicing kit. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do. Aunt Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement. She delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn’t got a present too. She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person. 

“You mustn’t blame yourself for the way the boy’s turned out, Vernon,” she said over lunch on the third day. “If there’s something rotten on the inside, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” 

Harry tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was starting to burn with anger. Remember the form, he told himself. Think about Hogsmeade. Don’t say anything. Don’t rise... 

Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine. “It’s one of the basic rules of breeding,” she said. “You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup-” 

At that moment, the wineglass Aunt Marge was holding exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping. 

“Marge!” squealed Aunt Petunia. “Marge, are you all right?”

“Not to worry,” grunted Aunt Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. “Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster’s the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip…” 

But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking at Harry suspiciously, so he decided he’d better skip dessert and escape from the table as soon as he could. 

Outside in the hall, he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. It had been a long time since he’d lost control and made something explode. He couldn’t afford to let it happen again. The Hogsmeade form wasn’t the only thing at stake... if he carried on like that, he’d be in trouble with the Ministry of Magic. 

Harry was still an underage wizard, and he was forbidden by wizard law to do magic outside school. His record wasn’t exactly clean either. Only last summer he’d gotten an official warning that had stated quite clearly that if the Ministry got wind of any more magic in Privet Drive, Harry would face expulsion from Hogwarts. He heard the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way. 

“I don’t know how long I can last like this,” Harry wrote in his journal quickly, his handwriting messier than usual. “I think at this rate I’m going to turn her into a pumpkin…” 

“God, I wish I could see that. She should get what she deserves. Don’t see why you’re holding back, if it was me, she’d already be one,” wrote Draco. 

“The underage magic rule,” Harry reminded, splattering his ink a little in his careless sprawl. “Last thing I need is to be kicked out of Hogwarts. Or sent to Azkaban...” 

Harry got through the next three days by forcing himself to think about his Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare whenever Aunt Marge started on him. This worked quite well, though it seemed to give him a glazed look, because Aunt Marge started voicing the opinion that he was mentally subnormal. 

At last, at long last, the final evening of Marge’s stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry’s faults; during the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored them a with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy. “Can I tempt you, Marge?” 

Aunt Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red. “Just a small one, then,” she chuckled. Petunia poured the alcohol. 

“Now, this one here...” Aunt Marge jerked her head at Harry, who felt his stomach clench. ‘The Handbook,’ he thought quickly. “This one’s got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred.” 

Harry was trying to remember page twelve of his book: A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers. 

“It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I’m saying nothing against your family, Petunia...” she patted Aunt Petunia’s bony hand with her shovellike one “...but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here’s the result right in front of us.” 

Harry was staring at his plate, a funny ringing in his ears. ‘Grasp your broom firmly by the tail,’ he thought. But he couldn’t remember what came next. 

Aunt Marge’s voice seemed to be boring into him like one of Uncle Vernon’s drills. 

“This Potter,” said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, “you never told me what he did?” 

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents. 

“He... didn’t work,” said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. “Unemployed.” 

“As I expected!” said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. “A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who...” 

“He was not,” said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life. 

“MORE BRANDY!” yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge’s glass. 

“You, boy,” he snarled at Harry. “Go to bed, go on...” 

“No, Vernon,” hiccupped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry’s. “Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect)-” 

“They didn’t die in a car crash!” said Harry, who found himself on his feet. 

“They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!” screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury. “You are an insolent, ungrateful little-” 

But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger... but the swelling didn’t stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech... next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls... she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami… 

“MARGE!” yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge’s whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly. 

“NOOOOOOO!” Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge’s feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon’s leg. Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. 

The cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books, birthday presents and his journal. He wriggled out, seized Hedwig’s empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters. 

“COME BACK IN HERE!” he bellowed. “COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!” 

But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. “She deserved it,” Harry said, breathing very fast. “She deserved what she got. You keep away from me, or I’ll curse you too.” He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. 

“You won’t use magic outside of school, boy!” snarled Uncle Vernon.

“Try me…” Harry said, and with that, slammed the door shut behind him and headed out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig’s cage under his arm.


	2. The Knight Bus

Harry was several streets away before he collapsed onto a low wall in Magnolia Crescent, panting from the effort of dragging his trunk. He sat quite still, anger still surging through him, listening to the frantic thumping of his heart. He opened up his trunk, and with trembling hands, took out his Three-way Journal, quill and ink, and began to write shakily. “I blew up my aunt. Now I’m on the run… I’m going to be expelled…” 

Tears welled in his eyes. But most of all, he was panic-sticken. What was he going to do? Where was he going to go now? He was completely alone in a cold, muggle world. He couldn’t be more grateful for his journal right now, and the emerald ink that was already appearing on it. 

“Wow. I’m impressed, going to talk to Father now. Just give me your address.” 

Harry looked along the road for the street name and scribbled “Magnolia Crescent.” 

He waited, his stomach churning. He was going to be expelled, wasn’t he. Worse, he might be taken to the wizard prison, Azkaban. Hagrid was taken there last year, and came out looking like he went through literal hell. Maybe he’d just be outlawed from the Wizarding World. Would Michael and Draco still want to be his friends, then?

A funny prickling on the back of his neck had made Harry feel he was being watched, but the street appeared to be deserted, and no lights shone from any of the large square houses. 

He bent over his trunk again, but almost immediately stood up once more, his hand clenched on his wand. He had sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black alleyway. If only it would move, then he’d know whether it was just a stray cat or... something else. 

“Lumos,” Harry muttered, and a light appeared at the end of his wand, almost dazzling him. He held it high over his head, and the pebble-dashed walls of number two suddenly sparkled; the garage door gleamed, and between them Harry saw, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes. Harry stepped backward. His legs hit his trunk and he tripped. His wand flew out of his hand as he flung out an arm to break his fall, and he landed, hard, in the gutter. There was a deafening BANG, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light… With a yell, he rolled back onto the pavement, just in time. 

A second later, a gigantic pair of wheels and headlights screeched to a halt exactly where Harry had just been lying. They belonged, as Harry saw when he raised his head, to a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled “The Knight Bus.”

For a split second, Harry wondered if he had been knocked silly by his fall. Then a conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the night. 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve-” The conductor stopped abruptly. He had just caught sight of Harry, who was still sitting on the ground. 

Harry snatched up his wand again and scrambled to his feet. Close up, he saw that Stan Shunpike was only a few years older than he was, eighteen or nineteen at most, with large, protruding ears and quite a few pimples. 

“What were you doin’ down there?” said Stan, dropping his professional manner. 

“Fell over,” said Harry. 

“’Choo fall over for?” sniggered Stan. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” said Harry, annoyed. One of the knees in his jeans was torn, and the hand he had thrown out to break his fall was bleeding. He suddenly remembered why he had fallen over and turned around quickly to stare at the alleyway between the garage and fence. 

The Knight Bus’ headlamps were flooding it with light, and it was empty. 

“‘Choo lookin’ at?” said Stan. 

“There was a big black thing,” said Harry, pointing uncertainly into the gap. “Like a dog… but massive…” He looked around at Stan, whose mouth was slightly open. 

With a feeling of unease, Harry saw Stan’s eyes move to the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Woss that on your ’ead?” said Stan abruptly. 

“Nothing,” said Harry quickly, flattening his hair over his scar. If the Ministry of Magic was looking for him, he didn’t want to make it too easy for them. 

“Woss your name?” Stan persisted. 

“Neville Longbottom,” said Harry, saying the first name that came into his head. 

“So... so this bus,” he went on quickly, hoping to distract Stan, “did you say it goes anywhere?” 

“Yep,” said Stan proudly, “anywhere you like, ’long it’s on land. Can’t do nuffink underwater.”

Harry wondered if Draco spoke to Mr. Malfoy, and he sent this bus to him? No, it looked like something the Malfoys wouldn’t dare to step foot in. 

“Ere,” he said, looking suspicious again, “you did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand ’and, dincha?” 

“Yes,” said Harry quickly. “Listen, how much would it be to get to London?” 

“Eleven Sickles,” said Stan, “but for firteen you get ’ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an ’otwater bottle an’ a toofbrush in the color of your choice.” 

Harry rummaged once more in his trunk, extracted his money bag, and shoved some gold into Stan’s hand. He and Stan then lifted his trunk, with Hedwig’s cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus. 

There were no seats; instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the rear of the bus muttered, “Not now, thanks, I’m pickling some slugs” and rolled over in his sleep. 

“You ’ave this one,” Stan whispered, shoving Harry’s trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. “This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Neville Longbottom, Ern.” 

Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard wearing very thick glasses, nodded to Harry, who nervously flattened his bangs again and sat down on his bed. 

“Take ’er away, Ern,” said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie’s. There was another tremendous BANG, and the next moment Harry found himself flat on his bed, thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus. Pulling himself up, Harry stared out of the dark window and saw that they were now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was watching Harry’s stunned face with great enjoyment. 

Ernie didn’t seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn’t hit anything; lines of lampposts, mailboxes, and trash cans jumped out of its way as it approached and back into position once it had passed. 

Harry quickly took out his journal to update Draco. He wrote as best he could, “The Knight bus just picked me up. It’s taking me to London.” 

He got a reply in green ink soon enough. “Ask to stay at the Leaky Cauldron. Father said we’ll pick you up tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” Harry paused, waiting for a particularly jittery road to pass. He figured he’d use up however many galleons he had left for a room. 

“Was’ that?” Stan pointed at Harry’s journal above his newspaper curiously. 

“Nothing,” Harry closed it quickly, putting his ink away. He almost tipped it all over himself when the bus turned a sharp corner. 

“Get sum sleep, Neville,” Stan said. 

Harry wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if he had been traveling on a bus that didn’t keep banging loudly and jumping a hundred miles at a time. His stomach churned as he fell back to wondering what was going to happen to him, and whether the Dursleys had managed to get Aunt Marge off the ceiling yet. 

Harry’s attention went back to the Daily Prophet that Stan was reading to take his mind off it. 

A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He looked strangely familiar. 

“That man!” Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. “He was on the Muggle news!” 

Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled. 

“Sirius Black,” he said, nodding. “’Course ’e was on the Muggle news, Neville. Where you been?” He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on Harry’s face, removed the front page, and handed it to Harry. 

“You oughta read the papers more, Neville.” 

Harry held the paper up to the candlelight and read: 

“BLACK STILL AT LARGE 

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today. 

“We are doing all we can to recapture Black,” said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, “and we beg the magical community to remain calm.” 

Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis. 

“Well, really, I had to, don’t you know,” said an irritable Fudge. “Black is mad. He’s a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister’s assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black’s true identity to anyone. And let’s face it, who’d believe him if he did?” 

“While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.”

Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one. 

“Scary-lookin’ fing, inee?” said Stan, who had been watching Harry read. 

“He murdered thirteen people?” said Harry, handing the page back to Stan, “with one curse?” 

“Yep,” said Stan, “in front of witnesses an’ all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?” 

“Ar,” said Ern darkly. Stan swiveled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look at Harry. “Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-’Oo,” he said. 

Harry didn’t expect this when he saw Sirius Black on muggle television. He figured he was just some muggle convict. He thought about Dursley’s reactions if they were to find out who that man really was. He couldn’t help but smirk thinking about it. 

“What you look so pleased fore?” Stan looked suspicious all of a sudden. 

“I- I’m not… it’s awful. I was just thinking… about how…” 

Luckily for Harry, the Knight bus came to a sudden halt, throwing him into his bed and cutting him off. Stan seemed to have forgotten about it already, bidding goodbye to one of the disgruntled looking passengers. 

“Anyway,” said Stan, still rubbing his chest as Ernie started up the engine. “Very close to You-Know-’Oo, ‘e was… When little ‘Arry Potter got the better of You-Know-’Oo...” Harry nervously flattened his bangs down again “...all You-Know-’Oo’s supporters was tracked down, wasn’t they, Ern? Most of ‘em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-’Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I ’eard he thought ’e’d be second-in-command once You-Know-’Oo ’ad taken over. 

“Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an’ Black took out ‘is wand and ‘e blasted ‘alf the street apart, an’ a wizard got it, an’ so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. ‘Orrible, eh? An’ you know what Black did then?” Stan continued in a dramatic whisper. 

“What?” said Harry. 

“Laughed,” said Stan. “Jus’ stood there an’ laughed. An’ when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, ‘e went wiv em quiet as anyfink, still laughing ‘is ‘ead off. ‘Cos ‘e’s mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?” 

“If he weren’t when he went to Azkaban, he will be now,” said Ern in his slow voice. “I’d blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves him right, mind you… after what he did…” 

Harry felt uneasy. He didn’t know why, but something wasn’t right. He could feel it in his gut. 

“‘Ear about that ‘Arry Potter? Blew up ‘is aunt! We ‘ad ‘im ‘ere on the Knight Bus, di’n’t we, Ern? ‘E was tryin’ to run for it…” Stan suddenly changed the topic. 

Harry tried his best not to show it on his face, but he was certainly unflattered. News of him blowing up his Aunt spread that fast already? He was surely done for.

Once the Knight Bus arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Stan and Ernie heaved his trunk out and bid goodbye to him. “See ya’ Neville Longbottom. Take‘are” 

And the bus disappeared once again. 

Harry felt like he might throw up. The hot chocolate he just had did him no good, either. 

Dragging his trunk inside, Hedwig’s cage in his arm, he went up to the bar. A stooping figure bearing a lantern appeared through the door behind it. It was Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord. “Why it’s Harry Potter! Welcome, what pays such a visit?” 

“I need a room,” Harry said, “Just for the night.” 

“Of course, of course, Mr. Potter. Come along.” he took Harry’s trunk for him, picking up a lantern with one hand. 

“Thank you, sir,” Harry muttered, following behind him. 

“No need, Mr. Potter. And please, call me Tom.” 

They reached a door with a brass number eleven on it. Inside was a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire and, perched on top of the wardrobe…

“Hedwig!” Harry gasped. The snowy owl clicked her beak and fluttered down onto Harry’s arm. 

“Very smart owl you’ve got there,” chuckled Tom. “I’ll bring up some tea. If there’s anything else you need, Mr. Potter, don’t hesitate to ask.” He gave another bow and left. 

Harry sat on the bed. His nerves still haven’t settled just yet, he couldn’t help but feel panicked. What was going to happen to him… what was going to happen to him…

Clearly, he wasn’t wanted for arrest, otherwise Tom would’ve called the Ministry on him. He was sure they’d waste no time finding him if they really wanted him locked up or kicked out of the wizarding world. No. Neither did he get any letters for his expulsion. Owls were capable of finding you wherever you were, but he hadn’t received anything. 

He didn’t get a reply from Draco or Michael either, he supposed they were sleeping by now, of course. But Harry couldn’t sleep, too sick with worry. He just lay there for god knows how long, until finally passing out. 

* * *

The next morning, he was woken up with a rapping on his door. Pulling on his glasses, he slid off his bed hazily and went to open it to be greeted by Tom the innkeeper. “Good morning, Mr. Potter. Forgive me for waking you so early, but you have guests.” 

By his uncomfortable voice, Harry knew who it was that came to see him. 

He pulled on his jacket, not wanting to look shabby in his sweaty shirt, and clambered down the nice, wooden steps after Tom, towards the Parlor. 

Mr. Malfoy and Draco stood there. Draco was looking around nosily as Mr. Malfoy gazed out of the window, as if lost in thought. 

“Here’s Mr. Potter,” Tom said stiffly. “If you need anything, just ask, Mr. Malfoy.” 

With a curt bow, he turned around and left. 

Draco smiled once he saw Harry. Mr. Malfoy’s smile, on the other hand, wasn’t as genuine-looking as his son’s. 

“Are you alright, Harry? It’s a good job Michael sent those three way journals.” 

Harry nodded. He felt rather awkward, and didn’t know what to say.

“Good day?” Mr. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, turning towards him. “I must say, I’m impressed. Though the Ministry of Magic, not so much.” 

Harry swallowed. “Um… it’s good to see you, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for coming. I just… I was just wondering… am I going to be expelled?”

“Not if I can help it,” Mr. Malfoy drawled, “I very much doubt you will be in light of… current events.”

“Current events?” Harry wondered. 

Mr. Malfoy seemed to ignore his question. “Come along, now, both of you. Cornelius Fudge, Minster for Magic, will be arriving at the Manor in several hours. I expect he’d be wanting to break the news to you himself, Harry.” 

Harry felt his stomach churn. His spirits fell away. He wondered if that meant he was going to be expelled or arrested. 

Draco, on the other hand, seemed rather cheery. 

“Even father was impressed when he heard what you did to your muggle aunt. I must say, I would have loved to see her face. If you’re asking me, you should be given an award. It’s a shame she didn’t pop like a balloon.” 

Harry couldn’t help but agree. He gathered all of his belongings, and made his way back downstairs. 

“How are we going to travel?” Harry asked curiously. Last year, to get to Diagon Alley from the Munroe Manor, they had to use a Portkey. 

“Father can Apparate, it’s the fastest way,” Draco explained. 

Harry learned something about Apparition. Though through all the chaos of last year with the heir of Slytherin and the Basilisk petrifying people, he wasn’t really paying attention. 

“Hold on to your belongings,” Draco said. 

Harry made sure he held his trunk and Draco held Hedwig in her cage. They reached out their arms on Mr. Malfoy’s. And then… 

It was as if Harry was forced through a tight, rubber tube. Next second, he was standing, just as he was before, but this time in a completely different location. He clasped his hand over his mouth, as if he was going to be sick, his face white as snow. 

“Never Apparated with anyone before, Harry?” Draco asked. 

Once it passed, he took a breath and replied, “the Dursleys would much rather take the car…” 

Only when the queasiness passed, did Harry properly notice his surroundings. The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering the stone floor. The walls of the entrance hall display pale-faced portraits lining the walls, and at the end of the hall is the bronze-handled door to the drawing room. It was much larger than the Munroe Manor, and had a darker atmosphere. Draco was grinning, “what d’you think? Good, isn’t it?” 

Harry nodded quickly, and the two boys followed after Mr. Malfoy. Harry was trying to keep up and look around at the same time. 

They reached a large, handsome hall which Harry recognised as a dining room, because of the empty plates and cutlery laying orderly along the long, expensive table. He learned some etiquette last year, whilst at the Munroe Manor, and was grateful for that. He wanted to come across as befitting for higher class. The last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself. 

“I’m sure you must be hungry,” Mr. Malfoy said, “take a seat.” 

Harry walked over to the polished, wooden chairs with remarkably detailed engravings. He didn’t feel worthy enough to sit on this furniture in his muddy clothes. 

Draco took a seat almost straight away, though, and gestured for Harry to sit next to him. 

Mr. Malfoy left the dining room, but Harry hadn’t noticed straight away. He was too busy gazing around at the chandeliers and diamond-paned windows. 

“Got your Hogwarts shopping yet? We’re going to get mine tomorrow, so it’s good you’ve come today. We could go together.”

“That’s if I’m not expelled, which is very unlikely…”

“Don’t be so pessimistic. If you were expelled you’d get a letter straight away. Anyway, I need to get new robes, of course, too. I grew four inches, can you believe it?” he looked at Harry. 

Harry was proud to say that he also grew a few, though he was still as scrawny as ever. 

“Do you think Michael looks more like a boy now?” Draco asked with a laugh. “Maybe he finally cut his hair.” 

“I think his hair is nice,” Harry said absent-mindedly. 

“Heard of the new Firebolt racing broom? I want one… Going to try to convince Father to get me one tomorrow.”

“No, I haven’t,” Harry muttered. That peaked his interest, though. Everything Quidditch related was Harry’s forte. Although he liked his Nimbus 2001, he didn’t think he was in dire need for a new broom just yet. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Draco must’ve noticed that Harry was spaced out. Moment later, though, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy both entered the dining room together. Mrs. Malfoy smiled once she saw Harry. 

“Hello, Harry, dear. So glad you could make it,” she sat in the chair next to him. “How awful it must’ve been for you, Draco told us all about your muggle family.” 

Harry smiled a little. Mrs. Malfoy seemed much warmer than Mr. Malfoy. He knew how caring she was, by the amount of letters and presents she sent Draco during their school year. 

“I just wanted to thank you for the Nimbus 2001, and that goblet too. I really appreciate it,” Harry said. And he meant it.

“It’s alright,” Mrs. Malfoy smiled. “I hope you can forgive us for last year. It must’ve been hard on you, everything that went on… and we were simply worried for Draco.”

“No, it’s alright. I understand,” Harry nodded. He didn’t know what it was about Mrs. Malfoy, but he felt like he could trust her. 

Moments later, a scrawny house elf came running into the dining room. 

Dobby. 

Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Is breakfast ready, yet?” Mr. Malfoy enquired. 

“Yes, master. Dobby took extra care preparing today’s breakfast, sir, since Harry Potter himself is staying guest at the Manor. Not that Dobby doesn’t already put a lot of care into everything that he does, of course, master.” he bowed his head, and snapped his fingers. 

The grand table was filled with all sorts of five-star restaurant looking dishes. Even the Hogwarts’ feasts had nothing on this banquet. 

“It looks amazing, Dobby,” Harry said with a small smile. Dobby looked like he would start weeping loudly, but he didn’t. He ran off quickly, blowing his nose on his pillowcase, mumbling, “Harry Potter so good… such good wizard… such kind wizard…”

None of the Malfoys seemed to notice, nor care. 

“Tell us, Harry,” Mrs. Malfoy suddenly said, as Draco piled bacon and perfectly sautéed mushrooms onto his plate. “How did it happen? With your aunt, I mean?” 

Harry didn’t think he’d be so willing to vent about it. But he couldn’t help himself. “She was insulting my family, my magical family, I mean. She’s a muggle just like my Aunt and Uncle. They always saw me as a freak…” 

“She clearly deserved what you did to her, though, didn’t she?” Mrs. Malfoy said, rather interested.

“Of course she deserved it,” Draco said, his mouth full. 

“Draco, manners,” snapped Mr. Malfoy. 

Draco put his hand over his mouth and finished chewing. “I apologise… she clearly deserved what she got. This is how all muggles are. Don’t get why the Ministry and Dumbledore want them at Hogwarts so bad.” 

“Surely, you must see the value of blood-purity,” Mr. Malfoy said, looking at Harry. “After all, you wouldn’t want someone like your cousin going to Hogwarts, would you?” 

Harry realized that he hadn’t even put anything on his plate. He didn’t know what to say. 

“Let’s not bore the boy with politics, Lucius,” Mrs. Malfoy said, blotting her mouth with her napkin. “Why aren’t you eating, dear? Is the food not right?” 

Harry shook his head quickly. “Oh, no it’s perfect… It looks really good…” he got some bacon, toast and mushrooms on his plate. “Sorry, I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.” 

He didn’t want to look ungrateful. Or get Dobby to get into trouble. The food was amazing. Aunt Petunia would’ve been livid if she found out a house elf cooked better than she did. 

“I don’t know about that,” Draco complained. “The bacon wasn’t well done, how I like it.” 

“Now, Draco, you’re not the only one at the table,” Mr. Malfoy said. 

Something gave the impression that if Harry wasn’t there, Dobby wouldn’t get off the hook so easily. 

Once breakfast was done, Mr. Malfoy took Harry to the Drawing Room. It was even bigger than the dining room. The ceiling was 30 feet high and had a long, ornate table. There was a handsome marble mantelpiece with a gilded mirror which had an intricately scrolled frame on top.

Harry was invited to sit at the very end of the grand table. “Wait here,” Mr. Malfoy said, and strolled out, and Harry waited, looking around, fascinated by all the details around him. 

Dobby suddenly appeared out of nowhere, making Harry jump a little. “Dobby is so glad to see Harry Potter alive, sir. Dobby was so worried… It’s good that Harry Potter is here, sir, where Dobby can keep an eye on him…” 

Harry was confused. “Don’t tell me there’s another mortal danger that you’re going to try and save me from again, Dobby,” Harry whispered. “I’m going to Hogwarts and that’s that…” 

That’s if, of course, he wasn’t expelled. 

“Dobby would prefer if Harry Potter went to Hogwarts this year. It’s the safest place on earth sir…” 

“Well that was a quick change of heart,” Harry mumbled. “What’s this year’s danger this time?”

“Dobby was ordered not to say, sir… it’s not Dobby’s place… I’m sure Minister For Magic will tell Harry Potter when he arrives…” 

There were sounds of footsteps outside of the Drawing Room. With a snap of fingers, Dobby was gone, and Harry was left staring into empty space, as the door opened. 

Cornelius Fudge stood there; Harry recognised him from last year, when he and Draco were under the invisibility cloak. Of course, Harry pretended he never saw him before. 

“Hello, there, Harry,” Fudge spoke, as if he was greeting an old friend. 

“Please, take a seat,” Mr. Malfoy offered. 

Fudge walked over to the table and sat opposite Harry, and Mr. Malfoy sat right at the end.

Fudge was inspecting Harry closely, but Harry was distracted by his lime-green bowler hat. 

“So, Harry, in light of recent happenings…” 

Harry’s stomach twisted as he waited for his sentence. But Lucius Malfoy raised his walking stick, “May I.”

“You may,” Fudge grumbled. 

“Mr. Potter was put into care of insolent, abusive muggles. If you ask me, the Ministry could’ve done a better job of taking care of him.”

“Now, now, Lucius. I’m sure Harry’s family isn’t that bad…”

Harry’s fists clenched under the table. “They insulted my parents, not to mention the amount of times they’ve starved me and locked me in the cupboard under the stairs. They wouldn’t even let me do my homework.” 

“Now, dear boy, you need to be more understanding… they’re afraid of magic, people can act very irrationally when afraid.” 

“You mean like how they burned witches and wizards and persecuted them centuries ago?” Harry mumbled. He knew he probably shouldn’t have been talking to the Minister for Magic like this, but he couldn’t help feel anger well up inside of him. Why didn’t anyone take his situation seriously? 

Fudge chuckled awkwardly, and Mr. Malfoy stared at him, a slight smirk on his face. “I’m sure some arrangements could be made for the boy. I want to make it clear that the Malfoys would be more than happy to take full guardianship of Mr. Potter.” 

Harry’s heart leapt, as his eyes widened. He nodded, “the Dursleys wouldn’t mind. They’d give me away in a heartbeat.” 

“Don’t speak such nonsense,” Fudge said, “you’ll stay with your Uncle and Aunt until you’re of age. They’re your blood relatives, after all.”

Any last glimmer of hope Harry had faded. He looked down. “So… I’m expelled and I have to go live with the Dursleys…” 

“What?” Fudge exclaimed. “Oh, no, dear boy. No,” he chuckled, “you’re not expelled.”

Both Harry and Mr. Malfoy looked surprised. 

“But… I used magic even though I’m underage. I got a warning last year saying if there was magic at Privet Drive again I’m going to be expelled…”

“Oh, that silly little thing, forget about that. Accidents happen, right? Like you said, you got into a bit of a heated argument and used a little bit of magic without meaning to…”

Harry thought, ‘if blowing up your aunt is just a little bit of magic…’ 

“But, until the new term starts, I don’t see a problem with you staying with the Malfoys. Just make sure to not go around wandering by yourself, Harry, alright? Promise me you won’t go off on your own.” 

Harry was confused. Why would he suddenly bring this up? “Um, I promise…” he said unsurely. 

“Good. Now, I best be off. Got loads to do,” Fudge got up and smiled at Harry. 

Mr. Malfoy stood up also, and Harry thought he’d best do the same. They followed Fudge out of the door, and Mr. Malfoy turned to Harry. “We’re going to Diagon Alley tomorrow. I’m sure you’d like to come along, too?” 

Harry nodded, “yes… yes, please,” he quickly said. “I… I was wondering,” he began, “if… well, you’d be able to sign my Hogsmeade permission form? If I’m staying here for the rest of the summer, that means you’d be my guardian, right?” 

Mr. Malfoy smiled just a little, and nodded, “why not. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss out on a pleasant trip with Draco and your other friends.” 

And so Harry got his Hogsmeade permission form signed, and was in a relatively cheery mood for the rest of the day. 

Draco dragged him outside as soon as they were free to play Quidditch. Since it was just the two of them, they got onto their brooms and tried to shoot into each other’s floating hoops over the expansive field of the Malfoy Manor. 

Harry was happy to be flying once again. It took him a few minutes to get used to it again after his long summer holiday with the Dursleys. After they were done, they decided to polish their brooms with their broom servicing kits. 

“We’re expecting guests tonight,” Mrs. Malfoy told the boys, as they made their way to the dining room for lunch. “Lord Munroe will be coming with his children.” 

Harry and Draco both looked at each other, smiling from ear to ear. They were going to see Michael. 

Lunch was just as good as breakfast, and this time, Harry could properly enjoy it without the threat of him being expelled looming over his head. Dobby was running around, doing all sorts of chores. He looked much less beaten up than last year, maybe because he wasn’t trying to save Harry all the time. 

After lunch, Harry finished up the rest of his homework. It was so much easier now that he didn’t have to hide under his covers in the middle of the night, trying to keep awake enough to finish. Draco was bragging about how he done all of his homework in the first week so he didn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the holiday. 

“You didn’t have to hide from your vindictive muggle family the whole time, though, did you,” Harry remarked, finally closing History of Magic. 


	3. Dementors

It soon came time for the Munroes to arrive. Cedric was the first to come prancing in, bowing graciously to the hosts and throwing his cloak at Dobby. 

Mr. Munroe seemed to have lost a bit of weight, but he was still as chunky and grumpy-looking as ever. 

Mari wore a very nice outfit, and Derek was dressed as if he would be appointed the new Minister For Magic. When Draco and Harry saw Michael, they realized that he didn’t change much at all. He was a bit taller, but his dark red hair was just as long. 

“Welcome,” Mr. Malfoy gave a curt smile. 

The Munroes were led into the dining room, and took their seats. Harry and Draco sat either side of Michael, eager to talk to him before dinner was ready. 

“You both look different,” Michael muttered. “You grew…”

“You didn’t,” Draco sniggered. “You still look like a girl.” 

Michael looked down at his plate. Harry shot a look at Draco. 

Mr. Malfoy and Lord Munroe hadn’t spoken to each other at all. Mrs. Malfoy made friendly conversation with Mari, as Cedric kept blabbering on about how him, Victoria and Raphael were opening up a magical theatre company. 

“Does he ever stop talking,” Draco muttered to Michael. 

When dinner appeared, Cedric was the only one left chattering between bites of food. Harry could see a faint vein popping out in Mr. Malfoy’s temple, but he was pretending he was listening with intrigue. Michael looked like he wished he could disapparate on the spot. 

“Did you hear about that escaped prisoner, Sirius Black?” Cedric suddenly said, “what a scary looking chap. He’d be a good actor, for the role of a villain, of course…” 

Michael shivered at the mention of that name. 

“I heard he’s after Harry,” Cedric suddenly said. 

Mr. Malfoy paused, his fork barely reaching his mouth. His eyes fell on Harry. 

Everyone was looking at him. 

Harry looked around, a wave of dread spreading across him. He knew, by the way that everyone was looking at him, that it wasn’t just some rumour Cedric heard somewhere. 

Michael and Draco were both as pale as their plates. 

“But… it’s not really true, is it?” Cedric gave a lighthearted laugh. 

No one answered. Harry slowly chewed his steak, he had lost his appetite. 

* * *

Lord Munroe let Michael stay at the Malfoy Manor with Harry and Draco for the rest of the summer. Cedric looked disappointed, like his favourite punching bag had just been stolen from him. They went to Diagon Alley together with Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy to get all of their school things. They travelled using Floo Powder this time, and it almost made Harry sneeze and say the wrong location. 

On their way out into Diagon Alley, Harry mustered up the courage to ask, “Mr. Malfoy… What Cedric said, is it true? Is Sirius Black really after me?” 

Mr. Malfoy paused, glancing over at Harry. “Yes, I suspect that’s the reason why Fudge was so lenient with you. Hogwarts is the safest place on earth… apparently…” 

It made sense now why Fudge told Harry not to go wandering around on his own. Then he remembered seeing those eyes in the alleyway. It sent chills down his spine thinking about it. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, I’m sure the Ministry will be swift in arresting Black.” 

But Harry wasn’t really feeling too worried. He was going to be with Dumbledore, at Hogwarts. Even Lord Voldemort was afraid of Dumbledore. Nothing would happen to him if he were there. 

“But why… why would Black want to kill me?” Harry muttered. 

“Well, he was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s servant, after all. And you finished him off, didn’t you?” 

Harry felt uneasy. It was almost as if Mr. Malfoy was blaming him instead of congratulating him like everyone else. 

“But if I were you, Harry,” Mr. Malfoy went on, “I wouldn’t go looking for Sirius Black.” 

Harry was confused. Why would he go looking for someone who’s trying to kill him? 

He was about to ask, when Mrs. Malfoy looked back and said, “are you both coming?” 

They went to Madam Malkin’s first, to get their new robes. Harry was fitted next to Draco, just like they were their first year of Hogwarts.

“Takes you back, doesn’t it,” Draco drawled, looking toward the window. “Expect Hagrid to appear any minute holding ice-cream.”

Harry smiled, remembering how magical his first year was. How new everything was. It was still amazing to him, of course, but he felt more used to it now. And after his encounter with Voldemort and Tom Riddle, he understood that the Wizarding world wasn’t just rainbows and unicorns. 

Michael appeared through a small crowd of witches fawning over elegant dresses, already wearing his new robes. 

Draco looked down at him with a smirk, “midget…”

“I’m not…” Michael crossed his arms. “You’re standing on a stool…”

“So? Bet you didn’t even grow an inch,” Draco jumped down, as soon as his robes were done. He was definitely taller than Michael, even as the other stood tall on his toes. 

“I have you know I grew three centremetres,” Michael huffed. 

Harry laughed a little. He really did miss his friends over the summer holidays. 

Harry’s robes were finished soon after, and Draco rushed them down Diagon Alley to look at the new broom. The Firebolt. 

“Look, it’s the latest model…” Draco said, pointing. A few other boys were gathered around it, both inside the shop and through the window. 

Harry looked at it in awe. It was the most magnificent broom he had ever seen. It was even more beautiful than his Nimbus 2001. He wanted it more than he had wanted anything in his life. 

But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He still had another five years to go. He couldn’t go wasting all of his parents’ money now. Besides, his Nimbus 2001 was still perfectly fine. Though he knew that if Mr. Malfoy bought Draco the Firebolt, he’d probably die of jealousy. 

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy both caught up with the boys soon enough, knowing that Draco was dying to look at the brand new racing broom. 

“Father, I want one. Can you get me one?” Draco asked. 

“Now, Draco, your Nimbus Two Thousand and One is still working perfectly, isn’t it?” 

Draco scowled, “and? I want the new Firebolt. It’s faster, more maneuverable and so much better than the old Nimbus… Besides Gryffindor team would cry with envy if they saw us with Firebolts…” 

Harry quickly said, “I’m not going to buy it, I need to save my money. So don’t feel like you have to…” 

“You’re not?” Draco frowned. 

Mr. Malfoy smiled emotionlessly. “See, Harry here has a bit of sense, Draco. I’m sure you’ll be fine with your Nimbus Two Thousand and One for now. There will be a newer model by the time your birthday comes around.” 

In that moment, Harry thought Draco looked like Dudley when Uncle Vernon told him he couldn’t have something. But it passed so quickly that Harry had forgotten it was there. “Whatever, we have to buy books now, anyway…” 

“Which subjects did you choose?” Draco asked, as they made their way to Flourish and Blotts. 

“I just took whatever Michael took,” Harry admitted. “Divination and Care of Magical Creatures” 

Michael nodded.

“I took Care of Magical Creatures but not Divination,” Draco said, “I took Arithmancy instead. Apparently it’s really hard, though…” 

“See if you can change it to Divination, speak to Professor Snape. You’re his favourite student after all,” Harry breathed. 

“I think you should have chosen for yourself, Harry,” Michael suddenly chimed in. “You need to start thinking about what you want to do once you leave Hogwarts.”

“I want to play Quidditch,” Harry said. 

“You’d be good professionally. I personally can’t wait to be in sixth year to do Alchemy,” Draco shrugged. 

The three of them entered Flourish and Blotts, pulling out their lists to see which books they needed. Just then, the manager came running up to them. 

“Hogwarts?” he said abruptly. “Come to get your new books?” 

“Yes,” said Harry, “We need...” 

“Get out of the way,” said the manager impatiently, brushing Harry aside. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick, and proceeded toward the door of the Monster Books’ cage. 

“Hang on,” said Harry quickly, “I’ve already got one of those.” 

“Hagrid sent you one too?” Draco asked. 

Both Harry and Michael nodded. 

The Manager drew a long sigh of relief. “Thank heavens for that. I’ve been bitten five times already this morning...” 

A loud ripping noise cut through the air; two of the Monster Books had seized a third and were pulling it apart. 

“Stop it! Stop it!” cried the manager, poking the walking stick through the bars and knocking the books apart. “I’m never stocking them again, never! It’s been bedlam! I thought we’d seen the worst when we bought two hundred copies of the Invisible Book of Invisibility... cost a fortune, and we never found them… Well… is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“Yes,” said Harry, looking down his booklist, “We need two of the… Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky.”

“Make that three,” Draco said. “Just in case.” 

“Ah, Divination,” the manager said. “Very interesting subject…” he chuckled, stripping off his gloves and leading Harry into the back of the shop, where there was a corner devoted to fortune-telling. A small table was stacked with volumes such as “Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself Against Shocks” and “Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul.” 

“Here you are,” said the manager, who had climbed a set of steps to take down three thick, blackbound books. “Unfogging the Future. Very good guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods... palmistry, crystal balls, bird entrails.” 

Draco pulled a face of disgust. 

But Harry wasn’t listening. His eyes had fallen on another book, which was among a display on a small table: “Death Omens - What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t read that if I were you,” said the manager lightly, looking to see what Harry was staring at. “You’ll start seeing death omens everywhere. It’s enough to frighten anyone to death.” 

But Harry continued to stare at the front cover of the book; it showed a black dog large as a bear, with gleaming eyes. It looked oddly familiar… 

The manager handed Michael and Draco their books, and pressed Harry’s into his hands. 

“Anything else?” he said. 

“Numerology and Grammatica for me, and three of... Intermediate Transfiguration and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three.” Draco read boringly. 

The three of them left Flourish and Blotts, their trolley filled with books. After a trip around many different shops for all the ingredients, tools and items they’d be needing, they made their way to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor to meet Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. 

Harry wasn’t sure when they had separated from them. They disappeared so quietly that he only realized they were gone by the time they were done picking up toad legs for potions. 

“We’re did you go?” Draco enquired. 

“Just had some business to take care of,” Mr. Malfoy drew out his words.

Something gave Harry the impression that this business was in Knockturn Alley. 

“Whatever,” Draco sat down, he looked a little tired. “Let’s have ice cream…” 

But Harry was distracted by something else. He saw Hermione Granger waving from inside the Parlor at him. He nudged Michael, “it’s Hermione.”

Draco frowned. “Granger, where?” when he saw her, his expression turned sour. “Why is she waving at us?” 

“She helped us a lot last year, you know,” Harry said. “Why do you hate her so much?”

“She’s muggle-born, and a know-it-all…” 

Harry was aware of Mr. Malfoy’s nonchalant gaze fall over him. He didn’t think it was a good idea to start up an argument with the Malfoy family about muggle-borns. 

“Hmm…” was all he said, and ignored her wave. 

Hermione must’ve realized it was because he was with the Malfoys, and didn’t seem to take it too personally. 

“What flavours are you boys having?” Mrs. Malfoy suddenly asked, a small smile on her face. 

After they were done eating their ice cream, they made their way back to the chimney from which they had appeared. In the distance, Harry caught sight of the Weasleys. It was hard to miss them, because of their vibrant, red hair. They were all wearing new robes too. 

“Still can’t believe that they won so much money,” Draco sniggered, “don’t you think they look out of place, suddenly dressing so nice?” 

“Draco, no need to be so impolite,” Mrs. Malfoy patted his shoulder gently. 

Though Harry could tell that both of his parents were slightly amused too. 

“Look, it’s Ron,” Michael said, smiling. 

Ron was being playfully pushed about by his brothers, Fred and George Weasley. Harry couldn’t tell which was which, since they were practically identical. He saw that Ron was still holding his pet rat. 

‘As if that thing’s still alive,’ Harry thought to himself as they entered the building. 

* * *

Harry spent the night in the Malfoys’ guest room staring up at the chandelier, thinking. He was thinking about Sirius Black. He had escaped from Azkaban… and he was after him. No doubt, he wanted him dead. He wondered why he wasn’t more worried, if the Knight Bus hadn’t arrived in Magnolia Crescent he could have been finished.

Feeling restless, Harry decided to go get himself a drink. He stepped off his bed into his slippers and made his way along the dark corridor, quiet as a cat. 

Speaking of cats, he saw Michael’s, Cheshire, sitting by his door. He was looking straight at Harry. As soon as Harry got close enough, Cheshire began to walk in front of him, as if wanting to lead him somewhere. 

Harry, too curious to pass up the chance, followed closely behind. 

Cheshire led Harry all the way to the Drawing Room door. Hushed voices were barely audible on the other side. Harry paused, and leaned closer. He knew it was probably a bad idea to listen in, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“We both know the truth about Sirius, Lucius…” Mrs. Malfoy said, her tone wavering. “If he gets to Harry…”

“He won’t get to Harry,” Mr. Malfoy interrupted. “I’m sure he’s going to be well protected at Hogwarts. After all, Azkaban guards will be stationed around the school. It’s only a matter of weeks before Sirius Black is caught. Those muggle-loving fools won’t allow a man like ‘that’ to roam around free for long. Just think about their reputation. If no action is taken, the muggles in charge of the… muggle world… will cut their allegiance with the Wizarding World. It could spell nasty business for the Ministry.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Hopefully they’ll… administer the kiss… so no one, not even Harry, will find out the truth…” 

Administer the kiss? Harry frowned. What did that mean? And what secret? 

Harry remembered Mr. Malfoy telling Harry not to go looking for him. Could it be related to that? 

“Harry is a very good boy, do speak to the Minister if we could adopt him, I don’t see why it cannot be done,” Mrs. Malfoy said. 

Harry felt hope well up inside of him. Whatever Mr. Malfoy’s motives were, he would much rather live here than with the Dursleys. 

Mrs. Malfoy went on. “He’s ever so polite and grateful, and Draco has been much happier since they became friends, plus he started reading books and doing his homework. It’s so awful how those muggles treat Harry… just think about the potential that boy has, Lucius. The Dark Lord is gone now, he’s not coming back. Harry can be the new symbol of hope for all of us.” 

Mr. Malfoy looked like he was thinking it through. Finally, he said, “I’ll see what I can do. It’s a shame Fudge is so adamant about keeping him with those cretins.”

Mrs. Malfoy gave a faint smile. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it all. A new symbol of hope? Hope for what? Was something bad coming? 

As soon as Mr. Malfoy stood up, Harry backed away from the door and made his way back to his room. 

New symbol of hope… was Harry really that special? What did they expect of him? So many questions rushed through his mind, and he ended up falling asleep quickly, too tired to think. 

* * *

The next morning, Harry came down to the Dining Room for breakfast. Michael and Draco were already there. Draco was telling a funny story about how he saw Pansy in Diagon Alley the other week and called her a lamppost because she grew an inch taller than him. And how Crabbe and Goyle almost destroyed the entire sweet stand from laughter. 

Michael was smiling, though Harry couldn’t tell if he actually found it funny or was just being polite. 

As Draco was talking, Dobby was polishing his shoes. 

“You missed a spot,” Draco pointed. 

Dobby hit himself with the brush. “Dobby is so very sorry, Master.”

“Should be…” Draco was distracted when he saw Harry walk in. “Oh, good morning… I was just telling Michael about Pansy, you’d die of laughter when you hear this…” 

“I just heard it, it’s funny,” Harry said, “maybe you should be a bit nicer to Dobby, though…”

Dobby looked at Harry with wide, tear-glazed eyes. 

“Why would I be nice to Dobby?” Draco scowled, “he’s only a house elf… not like he minds…” 

“He has feelings too, you know… even if he isn’t human like you…”

“Whatever,” Draco sighed. There was a pause. 

“Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?” Harry asked, looking around the table. 

“They went to speak with the Minister about something…” 

“They said they won’t be long, so we’re waiting for them to come back to have breakfast,” Michael added. 

“Breakfast!” Dobby yelped, “Dobby needs to start preparing breakfast!” 

Dobby ran off to the kitchen with a hurry. Harry hoped that he wasn’t going to burn himself on the stove for forgetting. 

“Anyway, can you believe that mudblood, Granger, is taking all of the subjects? How big headed could you get? Does she really think she can take them all on at the same time?” Draco leaned on his elbow. 

“Yeah, that’s strange, the lessons would be overlapping,” Michael shrugged. 

“Or maybe she’ll take extra lessons on weekends…” Harry said. 

“What does it matter how she does it,” Draco looked around, contempt on his face. “She still thinks she’s the smartest student at Hogwarts. So arrogant…” 

“Or maybe she just really enjoys learning,” Harry said. 

“She’s also taking that dumb Muggle Studies class. Why on earth would you want to study yourself?” Draco cringed. “She’s probably my least favourite person in the school…” 

“She helped us defeat the Basilisk and Tom Riddle last year,” Harry reminded, “and for someone who hates Hermione so much, you sure love to talk about her…” 

“Shut up, Harry… I don’t… I’m just saying, don’t expect me to suddenly be friends with her this year. Or that Weasley.” 

“We’re not forcing you to do anything,” Michael couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing,” the red haired boy mumbled quickly, as him and Harry exchanged looks. 

“Oh, by the way,” Harry sat down quickly, looking around to make sure Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy weren’t about to suddenly show up out of nowhere. “I overheard you parents talking last night, they said they want to adopt me…” 

“Really?” Draco grinned, “that would be great. There’s so much to do over the summer holidays, I wished you guys were there when we went to France... Also, you wouldn’t have to see your stupid mudblood relatives again…” 

“I don’t even want to think of them as relatives,” Harry sighed. “But that’s beside the point, I also heard them saying how they know the truth about Sirius Black, and that I should never find out about it… They seem pretty worried.” 

“But why?” Michael whispered. “We know that Draco’s parents were serving You-Know-Who before he was defeated. Why would they suddenly worry about your safety?” 

“Because,” Harry said, “they said that I’m a new symbol of hope… or something like that…” 

Draco looked thoughtful. “Maybe… because you beat You-Know-Who as a baby, they realized that he was much weaker than people thought… Maybe they believe that you’d be powerful enough to protect the Wizarding World.” 

“But protect it from what?” Harry sighed. “I don’t know what everyone expects from me…” 

“I don’t know… Mother and Father were always very secretive about You-Know-Who, they never told me anything about their time under him… To be honest, I’m under the impression that they’re ashamed...” 

Harry wasn’t sure what to think though. Only last year Lucius Malfoy slipped T. M. Riddle’s Diary into Ginny Weasley’s cauldron, which had almost killed her, muggle-born students and his best friend, Michael. Though Draco didn’t know that; he didn’t know how to tell him. Why, all of a sudden, would Mr. Malfoy have a change of heart, and suddenly be on the side of good. Unless he really was ashamed, not of what they’ve done, but being on the losing side. 

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy came back shortly, taking their seats at the table. Dobby flicked his fingers, and breakfast appeared in front of them. Harry could tell that whatever Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were negotiating with the Minister For Magic for, they didn’t get their way. Mr. Malfoy looked like he just swallowed a frog. 

“What did you see the Minister for?” Draco asked. 

“Now, that’s none of your concern, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy spoke. 

Draco sighed and poked his bacon with his fork. “Is Harry going to live with us now?” 

“No,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “I’m afraid the Ministry is very adamant about keeping Harry with his muggle family. No explanation as to why, of course, as usual.” 

“They’re muggle loving fools, that’s why,” Draco scowled. “Think they can do no wrong, probably…” 

Harry was looking at his plate. He didn’t get it either. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley treated Harry like he was a house elf his whole life. 

* * *

Even if it was short-lived, Harry enjoyed the rest of his holiday with his best friends at the Malfoy Manor. Michael seemed much happier away from Cedric, too. They practiced Quidditch, Draco showed them how he started working on Alchemy, even if it wasn’t very good. But he could turn water into ice, which impressed both Harry and Michael. 

“One day I’ll recreate the Philosopher’s Stone, just you wait, we’ll be immortal…” 

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to be immortal, but he was supportive of Draco’s ambitions either way. 

They found Michael reading the Monster Book of Monsters one morning. 

“How did you get that thing to open?” Draco enquired. “It almost bit my hand off…” 

“You have to stroke it,” Michael said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Stroke it?” Draco whined, “I rather stroke a spider…” 

Soon enough it was time to catch the Hogwarts Express. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy left the three boys at the barrier. 

“You watch yourself, Harry,” Mr. Malfoy said, gazing down at him nonchalantly, “don’t go looking for trouble this year. Draco, you too. We’ll keep in touch.” 

With that, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy left. 

Draco smirked. “Look who’s there,” he nodded his head, looking behind Harry and Michael. They turned around. Hermione granger was pushing her trolley, her muggle parents by her side. “It’s know-it-all Granger…”

Harry spotted Ron too, and smiled. 

The three of them were about to go through the barrier, before a loud, dramatic voice, stopped them. 

“Oh goodness, look, it’s my little brother!” 

Michael’s eyes closed slowly, and he took a deep breath, not daring to look behind him. 

Cedric strolled up, looking fancy in his cloak, with his pointy hat. Harry was reminded of Lockhart. 

“How have you been all summer, little brother?” he put his hand on Michael’s shoulder, making him jump, “Oh, look, it’s Harry and Draco, my favourite Quidditch players, haha, yes…”

Victoria Meyrose and Raphael Volkov caught up with Cedric in due time. 

Cedric gave out a drawn out sigh, “my last year of Hogwarts, can you believe it?”

“I can,” Michael muttered.

“Best be off!” Cedric patted his red hair and disappeared through the barrier, followed by Victoria and Raphael. 

“Oi, watch it,” Draco snarled. Fred and George Weasley shoved past him unapologetically. Draco straightened his robes with a huff, as they passed through the barrier. 

The three of them were the last to load their trunks and owls.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Crabbe said in the corridor of the train, as the three of them got on. 

“Yeah, why didn’t you meet us outside?” Goyle grumbled. 

“Sorry, I forgot,” Draco drawled, making his way past them, looking for an empty compartment. 

“You alright,” Harry said politely at Crabbe and Goyle, as him and Michael (with Cheshire in his arms) walked past them. They followed behind like two guard dogs, as usual. 

“They’re all full,” Draco sighed. 

“This one isn’t,” Michael said, looking into the very last compartment. 

It only had one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Harry, Draco and Michael checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food cart. 

The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray. 

“Didn’t know Hogwarts was opening up a homeless shelter,” Draco sneered. Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering. 

Harry opened the compartment door and stepped inside. 

“I wonder who he is,” Michael muttered, “is he a servant?” 

“Can’t we find somewhere else to sit…” Draco complained. 

“We won’t fit anywhere else,” Harry said. 

Squeamishly, Draco took his seat opposite Lupin by the window, Crabbe and Goyle on his side. Harry and Michael sat next to this mysterious stranger. 

“Professor R. J. Lupin,” Draco muttered. 

“What?” Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s written on his case…”

“Very observant,” Michael said. “But why is a Hogwarts’ Professor on the student train?” 

“How should I know, he looks poorer than Weasley…” Draco grimaced. 

“He looks like he’s had a rough time,” Harry said. 

“I wonder what he teaches,” Michael mumbled. 

“It’s not hard to guess,” Harry said. “Who d’you expect will take up Lockhart’s place for Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

“Professor Snape?” Draco leaned against the window, “he really wants that job, and I think he should get it… Maybe Lupin’s a replacement for potions.” 

Harry shrugged. He didn’t want to think about Professor Snape. Harry was his least favourite student. Though he didn’t know why he hated him so much. 

“What do you think those Azkaban guards are like?” Michael suddenly asked. 

“I don’t know, but Father always told me they were very scary and very powerful. Never seen one myself, of course. They’re not human, apparently…” 

Michael swallowed nervously. “And they’re going to be protecting Hogwarts?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m not worried,” Draco got some money from his pocket, preparing for the sweet trolley. “Nothing gets past Azkaban guards…”

“Except for Sirius Black, apparently,” Michael said. “If he escaped from Azkaban under their noses, who says he can’t break into Hogwarts?” 

“Stop worrying so much,” Draco said irritably, “it’s going to be fine… Now, where’s the Lady with the trolley?” 

Both Crabbe and Goyle looked like they could use a snack by their chubby, hungry faces. 

Why was Harry reminded of Aunt Marge’s dogs… 

“Can’t wait to go to Hogsmeade,” Draco said. “They have a sweet shop called Honeydukes. Apparently they have everything you could possibly want. I want to go to the Three Broomsticks to try their Butterbeer…” 

“Butterbeer?” Michael gasped, “isn’t that alcohol?” 

“It’s only got a little bit of alcohol, so it’s not illegal. Don’t be such a wuss…” 

Professor R. J. Lupin stirred, and they all looked at him suddenly. There was an anticipatory pause, but the other was sleeping soundly once more. 

Harry wished he knew enough about Hogsmeade to be able to talk to his friends about it, but he stayed quiet. He was hopeful that his permission form would be accepted with Mr. Malfoy’s signature. 

“Are you okay?” Michael asked him suddenly. 

Harry broke out of his thoughts, and nodded quickly. 

“Anything from the trolley,” came a voice outside of their compartment. Draco got up, “don’t worry, I’ll pay…” 

“Maybe we should get Professor Lupin something, he looks like he hadn’t eaten for days,” Harry nodded. 

“Do I look like a charity worker?” Draco opened the compartment door, and paused. “Fine, I’ll get him something.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“What? I’m feeling generous…”

“Anything from the trolley dear?” the plump Lady smiled at Draco.

“Five chocolate frogs, a Bertie Botts, No-Melt Ice Creams… and…” he looked back at Lupin. 

Michael prodded his shoulder, “Professor…”

He gave a snore, but remained asleep. 

“Not to worry, dear, when he wakes up, if he’s hungry, I’ll be up front with the driver.”

Draco paid for the snacks and sat back down. “That’s if he doesn’t die beforehand…” 

Michael looked nervous. 

Crabbe and Goyle had already swallowed their chocolate frogs and No-Melt Ice Creams before Harry could even start on his. He pulled out the card that came with his Chocolate Frog. It was Merlin. 

“Still want it?” he looked at Goyle. 

Goyle’s eyes lit up as he accepted his card. 

“You still didn’t get Merlin after all this time?” Draco said in disbelief. “You have the worst luck, don’t you…” 

Goyle shrugged stupidly. 

They sat pretty much in silence, as rain began pouring, rapping the windows of the train. The first thing to break the silence was the sudden opening of their compartment door. Pansy Parkinson, a pug-faced Slytherin from their year, was standing there, looking amused. “Oh, look who it is… Potty, Malfoy and Munroe… I still can’t tell what gender you are, maybe you should cut that stupid hair off,” she smirked at Michael. 

“Shut your mouth, Parkinson. Nobody even likes you anymore.” 

Pansy shot a glare towards Draco. “I have you know I already made new friends. I’m pretty popular…” 

“Yeah, whatever. Bet you’re really not. Bet you’re sitting up front with the driver and the trolley Lady because no one will let you into their compartment…” 

Pansy’s mouth fell open. 

Crabbe and Goyle were crying soundlessly. Even Harry and Michael were stifling their laughter. 

“Well… I bet the other Slytherins would be very interested to know that you’re hanging around with a homeless disgusting-looking middle-aged man…”

“He’s our new Professor, Pansy,” Draco taunted, “imagine if he heard you saying that about him…” 

They knew how, despite being a horrible bully, she was also every teacher’s pet. 

Without saying another word, she turned briskly and left. 

The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the wind roared, but still, Professor Lupin slept. 

“We must be nearly there,” said Michael, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window. The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down. 

“I’m starving,” Goyle complained, getting up. “Lets go-”

“Wait,” Draco put his hand up to stop him. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t see through the thick rain and darkness outside. “It’s a bit too early, isn’t it? Why are we stopping?” 

Harry, who was nearest the door, got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments. 

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness. 

“What’s going on…” Michael’s hushed voice broke through the silence. Harry squinted, trying to see in the darkness. 

“Ouch, you just stepped on me,” Draco hissed at Crabbe. 

Harry felt his way back to his seat. “D’you think we’ve broken down?” 

“I don’t know,” Michael whispered. 

Harry’s stomach churned. 

Michael wiped the mist off the window, trying to squint to see inside. “There’s something moving… I think someone’s coming on…” 

“But who?” Draco said, “the train never stopped like this before…” he was also trying to see through the darkness outside. 

“Shh…” came a sound from next to Michael. 

Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last. Harry could hear movements in his corner. None of them spoke. There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, gray face, but his eyes looked alert and wary. 

“Stay where you are.” he said in a hoarse voice, and got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him. But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin’s hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry’s eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water… But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry’s gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak. And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings. 

An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart… Harry’s eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn’t see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder… And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his arms, but couldn’t… a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him…

* * *

“Harry, are you alright? Harry, please wake up…” Michael’s voice was becoming clearer, as Harry felt himself come about once more. 

“W- What’s going on…” Harry muttered. Michael and Draco blurred into view, kneeling over him. Professor Lupin, Crabbe and Goyle were watching behind them. 

“Harry, are you okay?” Draco asked. 

Harry noticed that the lights of the train had come back on, and the train was moving again. He also realised that he was on the floor; must’ve slid off his seat when he blacked out. But what on earth had happened? He felt very sick; when he put up his hand to push his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face. 

Michael helped him back up to his seat. He was shaking like he had been plunged into ice cold water. 

“W- what was that thing?” he mouthed. “Who screamed?” 

“No one screamed, Harry,” Michael said, his voice ladened with worry. Though he could tell Michael was very pale, his voice was quivering. 

“But I heard screaming…” 

A loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces. 

“Here,” he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. “Eat it. It’ll help.” 

Harry took the chocolate but didn’t eat it. 

“What was that thing?” he asked Lupin. 

“A Dementor,” said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. “One of the Dementors of Azkaban.” 

Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket. Draco was eyeing his piece suspiciously. 

“Eat,” he repeated. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…” He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor. 

Michael tilted his head, “oh come on, a Professor isn’t going to try to poison us…” he took a small bite. A few seconds later, he gave out a soft sigh, “he’s right…” 

Draco also took a nervous bite. But he, too, looked like he was relaxing in his seat. 

Crabbe and Goyle had eaten theirs before Lupin even left. 

Harry bit into his chocolate. To his great surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry? You looked like you were having a seizure,” Draco said. 

“We were so worried… you passed out, and Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the Dementor, and pulled out his wand,” said Michael, “and he said, “None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.” But the Dementor didn’t move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away…” 

“It felt horrible… It was so cold…” Draco muttered, “it was as if all the happiness was sucked out of the room…” 

“So those are the guards of Azkaban,” Michael shivered, “I knew they were bad… I didn’t think they were… this terrifying… even Harry passed out...” 

Harry felt stupid. He was the only one to faint? He had completely gone to pieces. Shame went over him as he thought about how weak he must be. 

Professor Lupin had come back. “Feeling better, Harry?” 

Harry nodded, “I’m perfectly fine…” he didn’t even stop to wonder how he knew his name. 

“We’ll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes.” 

They didn’t talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get outside; owls hooted, cats meowed, and Neville’s pet toad croaked loudly from under his hat as he passed Harry, Draco and Michael. 

It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets. 

“Firs’ years this way!” called a familiar voice. 

Harry, Draco, and Michael turned and saw the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform, beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward for their traditional journey across the lake. 

“All right, you three?” Hagrid yelled over the heads of the crowd. They waved at him, but had no chance to speak to him because the mass of people around them was shunting them away along the platform. The three of them of them followed the rest of the school along the platform and out onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited the remaining students, each pulled, Harry could only assume, by an invisible horse, because when they climbed inside and shut the door, the coach set off all by itself, bumping and swaying in procession. 

“Oh no,” Draco said, “where are those idiots?” 

Harry looked around. They didn’t even realize Crabbe and Goyle were missing until now. 

They saw two large figures running down the track after the carriages. They couldn’t catch their breaths. 

“Wait up… wait up…” Crabbe panted. 

Their carriage stopped almost automatically, and Crabbe and Goyle got on, sinking into their seats, their faces shiny and red, hair matted to their faces. 

“Did you get lost again?” Draco said in a bored tone, “goodness, you are hopeless, aren’t you?” 

The two hefty boys looked at each other, dripping from the rain and probably sweat. 

“I’m surprised. This is probably the most exercise you both had your whole lives…” 

They didn’t say anything. Harry didn’t know why they stuck around, clearly Draco wasn’t too fond of them. If there were no Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs around, they’d most certainly be the butt of his jokes instead. 

Harry felt better since the chocolate, but still weak. Michael kept looking at him sideways, as though frightened he might collapse again. 

As the carriage trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, Harry saw two more towering, hooded Dementors, standing guard on either side. 

A wave of cold sickness threatened to engulf him again; he leaned back into the lumpy seat and closed his eyes until they had passed the gates. The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping drive up to the castle; Michael was leaning out of the tiny window, watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. 

At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Michael and Draco got out. 

As Harry stepped down,a delighted voice sounded in his ear. 

“You fainted, Potty? Are the rumours true? Can’t believe our hero fainted…” Pansy was leading a group of Slytherin girls towards them, who were giggling profusely. 

“Get lost, Pansy” Harry snapped. 

Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“What? Embarrassed, Potter? Want me to go away so I don’t see you faint again?” she did a pretty accurate depiction of fainting, falling into the arms of her giggling minions.

That’s when Professor Lupin came out of his carriage. “Is there a problem?”

Pansy suddenly straightened up, fiddling her robes into place. “N- no, Professor…”

Draco smirked, as she turned briskly and walked away. 

“She’s obsessed with you,” Draco sneered, “she clearly fancies you… just ignore her.”

But Harry was in a fowl mood. He expected everyone would be making fun of him now for fainting, for being so weak. 

He followed behind Draco and Michael silently, as they talked about something. Harry didn’t care to know what it was.

The three of them joined the crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors, into the cavernous Entrance Hall, which was lit with flaming torches, and housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors.

The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; Harry followed the crowd toward it, but had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which was black and cloudy tonight, when a voice called, “Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!” 

Harry turned around, surprised. Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House, was calling over the heads of the crowd. 

She was a stern looking witch who wore her hair in a tight bun; her sharp eyes were framed with square spectacles. Harry fought his way over to her with a feeling of foreboding: Professor McGonagall had a way of making him feel he must have done something wrong. 

Hermione was already by her side when he approached them, looking just as nervous as he. 

“There’s no need to look so worried... I just want a word in my office,” she told them. “Move along there, Malfoy.”

Draco scowled, grabbing Michael’s robes and walking off into the Great Hall. 

Professor McGonagall ushered Harry and Hermione away from the chattering crowd; they accompanied her across the entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and along a corridor. Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall motioned Harry and Hermione to sit down. 

She settled herself behind her desk and said abruptly, “Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter.” Before Harry could reply, there was a soft knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, came bustling in. Harry felt himself going red in the face. It was bad enough that he’d passed out, or whatever he had done, without everyone making all this fuss. 

“You passed out? Goodness, Harry, are you alright?” Hermione said quickly. 

“I’m fine,” he said, “I really don’t need anything...” 

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Madam Pomfrey, ignoring this and bending down to stare closely at him. “I suppose you’ve been doing something dangerous again?” 

“It was a Dementor, Poppy,” said Professor McGonagall.

They exchanged a dark look, and Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly. 

“Setting Dementors around a school,” she muttered, pushing back Harry’s hair and feeling his forehead. “He won’t be the last one who collapses. Yes, he’s all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate-” 

“I’m not delicate!” said Harry crossly. 

“Of course you’re not,” said Madam Pomfrey absentmindedly, now taking his pulse.

“What does he need?” said Professor McGonagall crisply. “Bed rest? Should he perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?” 

“I’m fine, honestly,” Harry said, gritting his teeth. 

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said, “don’t be embarrassed… you should’ve seen Ginny, she looked like she was about to pass out in our carriage!” 

“That makes me feel much better,” Harry huffed. 

Hermione looked back at Professor McGonagall. 

“At least have some chocolate,” Madam Pomfrey said. 

“Already have,” Harry mumbled, growing calmer. “Can I go now?” 

“Very well. Kindly wait outside while I have a quick word with Miss Granger about her course schedule, then we can go down to the feast together.” 

Harry went back into the corridor with Madam Pomfrey, who left for the hospital wing, muttering to herself. Did Professor McGonagall want to escort him in case he was to faint again? 

He had to wait only a few minutes, though; then Hermione emerged looking very happy about something, followed by Professor McGonagall, and the three of them made their way back down the marble staircase to the Great Hall. 

It was a sea of pointed black hats; each of the long House tables was lined with students, their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of candles, which were floating over the tables in midair. Professor Flitwick, who was a tiny little wizard with a shock of white hair, was carrying an ancient hat and a three-legged stool out of the hall. 

“Oh,” said Hermione softly, “we’ve missed the Sorting!”

Harry didn’t say anything. He went to sit between Draco and Michael who had saved him a seat. 

“What was that all about?” Michael muttered. 

“She wanted to make sure I was alright…”

“And are you?” 

“What does it look like?” 

“It looks like you’re very grumpy…” Michael leaned on his elbow, “I’m sure the feast’ll have chocolate muffins…”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Harry huffed. 

Draco was sneering at him. “Why d’she call Granger too?” 

“Something about her subjects, I don’t know…” 

At that moment the headmaster stood up to speak, and he broke off. 

Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gave an impression of great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. He was often described as the greatest wizard of the age, but that wasn’t why Harry respected him. You couldn’t help trusting Albus Dumbledore, and as Harry watched him beaming around at the students, he felt really calm for the first time since the Dementor had entered the train compartment. 

“Welcome!” said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…” 

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, “As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business. 

“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises… or even Invisibility Cloaks,” he added blandly, and Harry and Michael glanced at each other. “It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors,” he said. 

Percy Weasley, who was sitting at the Gryffindor table, puffed out his chest and stared around impressively. 

Cole De’Claire from the Slytherin table was pointing at his new Prefect badge and smirking mischievously. 

“What teacher decided to give him that kind of power?” they heard Blaise Zabini whisper.

Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound. 

“On a happier note,” he continued, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. “First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” 

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Harry and Michael were the only few who clapped hard. 

Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes. Professor Snape was looking more sour than ever. 

“Disappointing,” Draco said. 

“He repelled that Dementor, though, like it was nothing,” Michael said. “I think he’s the best man for the job.”

“Professor Snape could have done it,” Draco complained. “Just hope that Professor Lupin finds better robes…” 

“As to our second new appointment,” Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.” 

Harry, Draco, and Michael stared at one another, stunned. Then they joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. The three of them were the only ones clapping on the Slytherin table though, besides Crabbe and Goyle who joined in, only because Draco did. 

Harry leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard. 

“We should’ve known,” Michael smiled. 

“Who else do you think would have assigned us a biting book?” Draco sneered.

Harry, Draco, and Michael were the last to stop clapping. Draco gave a whoop as the applause died down, before Professor Dumbledore started speaking again, they saw that Hagrid was wiping his eyes on the tablecloth. 

“Well, I think that’s everything of importance,” said Dumbledore. “Let the feast begin!” The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. Harry, suddenly ravenous, helped himself to everything he could reach and began to eat. 

It was a delicious feast; the hall echoed with talk, laughter, and the clatter of knives and forks. 

Harry, Draco, and Michael, however, were eager for it to finish so that they could talk to Hagrid. They knew how much being made a teacher would mean to him. Hagrid wasn’t a fully qualified wizard; he had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year for a crime he had not committed. It had been Harry and Draco who had cleared Hagrid’s name last year. 

Harry kind of hoped Draco would warm up to Professor Lupin like he had with Hagrid. He had a good feeling about him, even if he did look like he just came off the streets. 

At long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden platters, Dumbledore gave the word that it was time for them all to go to bed, and they got their chance. 

“Congratulations, Hagrid,” Harry beamed as they reached the teachers’ table, followed behind by Crabbe and Goyle. 

“All down ter you three,” said Hagrid, wiping his shining face on his napkin as he looked up at them. “Can’ believe it… great man, Dumbledore… came straight down to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he’d had enough… It’s what I always wanted…” 

Overcome with emotion, he buried his face in his napkin, and Professor McGonagall shooed them away. 

The five of them strolled across the Great Hall, catching up to the Slytherins who were leaving for the dungeons. Blaise Zabini joined their side. “Can you believe they appointed that… Oaf...”

“Got a problem with Hagrid?” Draco asked. 

“N- no,” Zabini gave an awkward laugh. “See you around,” he said quickly and walked away. 

“What was that about,” Harry shook his head. 

“I need to speak to Professor Snape,” Draco suddenly said, “just remembered…” 

As soon as he was done talking, he was off. 

Harry and Michael looked at each other, before making their way down the steps. 

Crabbe and Goyle were following after them. 

“The new password is… Dementor…” Cole smirked, looking at the nervous first years in particular. 

Harry blinked. “Is he having a laugh?”

“Move, coming through!” Cedric’s theatrical voice bellowed from behind them. “Harry! Oh, Harry,” he put his hand over his heart, “are you alright? Fainting like that, goodness… Poor Harry…” 

Harry’s face turned crimson. Everyone was muttering, and he heard a few sniggers from the girls. Pansy was outright balling with laughter. 

“What’s so funny, Parkinson. He’s frail, you’ll upset him.” Cedric said, feigning sympathy.

“Shut up, be quiet!” Harry snapped all of a sudden.

Michael stared. Even Pansy stopped laughing. 

“That’s quite enough,” Evalyn De’Claire announced, turning towards her twin brother, Cole. “Go on.” 

A Sugar Quill now hanging from his mouth, Cole jeered and stalked into the Common Room. 

Michael squeezed Harry’s hand, trying to be comforting. 

But Harry was almost as angry as the time he blew up Aunt Marge.

Cedric chuckled and strolled past as if nothing had happened. 

“How do you put up with him,” he grumbled, as they followed the rest of the Slytherins inside.


	4. The Hippogriff

The next day, Harry and Michael made their way to the Great Hall, and found Draco sitting opposite Crabbe and Goyle, eating toast and reading his brand new schedule. 

Cole gave Harry and Michael theirs, a fork in his mouth. 

“Sit down, will you,” Evalyn sighed, “at this rate you’ll end up a Slytherin ghost with a fork pierced through the back of your throat…” 

Michael winced at the thought. 

Harry looked at his schedule. They had Divination first. 

“Professor Snape let me take on Divination… but it was too late for me to drop out of Arithmancy,” Draco drawled, not looking up at his friends as he spoke. “Whatever, Father would be pleased to see that I’ve taken an extra subject anyway…” he looked up. “What’s up with you?”

Harry hadn’t realized he still wore a gloomy expression from last night. He didn’t want to go into what happened. 

“Do you know how to get up to Divination?” Michael asked. 

It was a good question. 

Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absent-mindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand. 

“All righ’?” he said eagerly, pausing on his way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five getting’ everthin’ ready… hope it’s okay… me, a teacher… hones’ly…” 

He grinned broadly at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat. 

“Wonder what he’s been getting ready?” said Draco unpleasantly, probably remembering the spiders from last year. 

“We better go now. It’ll probably take some time to find our next class,” Harry got up. 

“Professor Snape said it was in the North Tower,” Draco said, and the three of them left the Great Hall. 

The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn’t taught them everything about the castle, and they had never been inside North Tower before. 

“This is far…” Draco complained. “Imagine forgetting your Divination text book. I think I’d do a backflip down the drop,” he glanced over the railing. 

It was, indeed, a long way down. 

They finally reached the seventh staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall. 

“Which way?” Michael looked around. 

“I say, it’s that way,” Draco pointed. 

“Can’t be… it’s south”

“It’s south,” Draco mocked, “didn’t know you were a compass, Michael…” 

“Look out of the window, use common sense…” 

But Harry was watching the painting. A fat, dappled-gray pony had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly. Harry was used to the subjects of Hogwarts paintings moving around and leaving their frames to visit each other, but he always enjoyed watching them. 

A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armour had clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off. 

“Aha!” he yelled, seeing Harry, Draco and Michael. “What villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands! Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!” 

They watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed facedown in the grass. 

“Idiot,” Draco sneered. 

Harry elbowed him, and looked at the Knight. “Ahem… excuse me…”

“Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!” 

The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank deeply into the grass and, though he pulled with all his might, he couldn’t get it out again. Finally, he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face. 

“Listen,” said Harry, taking advantage of the knight’s exhaustion, “we’re looking for the North Tower. You don’t know the way, do you?” 

“A quest!” The knight’s rage seemed to vanish instantly. He clanked to his feet and shouted, “Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!” 

Draco and Harry exchanged glances of contempt, as Michael took the lead, following the Knight. 

The three of them climbed the tightly spiraling steps quickly, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at last they heard the murmur of voices above them and knew they had reached the classroom. 

“Farewell!” cried the knight, popping his head into a painting of some sinister-looking monks. “Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!” 

Draco was trying to catch his breath, his hand over his chest. 

Harry gave an awkward sort of smile as the Knight set off once again. 

“It’s good to get a bit of exercise,” Michael said. 

“Speak for yourself,” Draco breathed. 

They climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing, where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors off this landing, but Michael nudged Harry and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it. 

“Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher,” Harry read. “How’re we supposed to get up there?” 

As though in answer to his question, the trapdoor suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at Harry’s feet. Everyone got quiet. 

Draco and Michael were looking at Harry expectantly. He looked behind him to see the class staring. 

“Okay, I’ll go first…” he said. He could practically feel everybody’s nervousness. With a sigh, he climbed the ladder quickly and emerged into the strangest-looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn’t look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between someone’s attic and an old-fashioned tea shop. 

At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and the many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. It was stiflingly warm, and the fire that was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. 

The shelves running around the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups. 

“Ow, you stepped on my hand…” Draco’s voice came from below. 

“Why are you so close behind me then?” Michael said, clambering through. 

Ron Weasley appeared after the two, looking just as confused as Harry felt. 

“Where is she?”

The rest of the class assembled after them. 

A voice came suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice. 

“Welcome,” it said. “How nice to see you in the physical world at last.” 

Harry’s immediate impression was of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and they saw that she was very thin; her large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a gauzy spangled shawl. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings. 

“Sit, my children, sit,” she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto poufs. 

Harry, Draco, and Michael sat themselves around the same round table. 

“You regret your decision yet?” Michael whispered to Draco, who wore a look of disgust on his face. 

“Welcome to Divination,” said Professor Trelawney, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. “My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye.” 

Nobody said anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. 

Draco gave a sneer. 

Professor Trelawney delicately rearranged her shawl and continued, “So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you… Books can take you only so far in this field…” 

At these words, Draco looked at Hermione, “Oh no, poor Granger is shaking in her seat...”

Hermione, from the table above theirs, crossed her arms and looked away. 

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron said. 

Professor Trelawney suddenly pointed at Draco, and he was sure he was going to lose points from Slytherin, before her finger fell on Hermione. 

Everyone stared.

“I see a kind of… energy blossoming between the two of you…” her shaky hand moved to push her glasses up her nose. “A forbidden love!”

“This is nonsense,” Draco stated. “You need glasses for your Inner Eye, Professor…” 

Harry and Michael were trying so hard not to smile. 

Hermione went a bright shade of pink. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron looked at her. “Since when did you…” 

“It’s nonsense, Ron…” she crossed her arms, “Divination has no bearings with logic and science…” 

But Professor Trelawney was already pointing at Lavender Brown from Gryffindor. 

“I wonder, dear,” she said to Lavender, who was nearest and shrank back in her chair, “if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?” 

Lavender, looking relieved, stood up, took an enormous teapot from the shelf, and put it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney. 

“Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing you are dreading... it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October.” 

Lavender trembled. 

“Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear,” she caught Neville Longbottom by the arm as he made to stand up, “after you’ve broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I’m rather attached to the pink.” 

Sure enough, Neville had no sooner reached the shelf of teacups when there was a tinkle of breaking china. Professor Trelawney swept over to him holding a dustpan and brush and said, “One of the blue ones, then, dear, if you wouldn’t mind… thank you…” 

But Draco had gone very quiet. He didn’t even laugh at Neville. 

“This subject is ridiculous…”

“You…” Professor Trelawney looked at Michael, who glanced from side to side, wondering if it was he she was speaking with. “Your deepest, most desperate desire will indeed come true in your seventh year, my dear…” 

The colour drained from Michael’s face. He looked like a dementor had just entered the room. 

“At least someone’s getting some luck,” Ron muttered. 

But Harry remembered the Mirror of Erised. And how terrified Michael was when he saw his reflection. 

“Now, come forth and take your cups, everyone, come on…” she spoke, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. 

Draco and Michael went to get their cups, and Harry looked around, not knowing who to pair with. 

“Neville, dear, go pair with Harry…” Professor Trelawney said. 

Neville looked at Harry nervously.

“I’m not going to bite,” Harry huffed, going to take his cup and filling it. 

Neville joined Harry’s table reluctantly, almost dropping his second cup. 

“Bet your future’s bleaker than mine,” Draco drawled, nodding his head towards Hermione’s table. 

Neville swallowed nervously. 

Harry drank his scolding tea quickly. Neville burned his mouth and gasped. “Ow, ow…”

Draco was laughing again. “Don’t know how you’re going to trust your future reading to such a buffoon, Harry.” 

Harry shook his head, “ignore him, Neville…” 

They swirled like Professor Trelawney instructed and swapped cups.

“What do you see?” Draco asked. “Please don’t say it’s Granger’s ugly face…” 

“I see a… some sort of bird…” Michael squinted. 

“A beautiful swan perhaps?”

“It looks more like a duck…”

Harry looked over at them, before looking into Neville’s cup. He didn’t have a clue what he was looking for. It just looked like a jumbled mess. Not to mention, the heavily perfumed smoke in the room was making him feel sleepy and stupid. 

He opened up his book to page five and six. 

“Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!” Professor Trelawney cried through the gloom. 

Harry tried to pull himself together. 

“Okay,” he muttered. “I see… some sort of a serpent there…” 

Neville went white. 

“Or maybe it’s a chicken…” 

“Don’t soil your pants just yet, Longbottom, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance it's just a chicken,” Draco sniggered. 

Neville looked into Harry’s cup nervously, trying not to drop it from his shaking hands. “I- I see… an acorn… I think…” he turned to his book, “You’re going to get unexpected gold.” 

“Maybe Weasley could borrow some,” Draco howled.

Michael nudged him. “What does my cup say?”

But Draco was enjoying throwing insults more than reading tea-leaves. 

Neville went on, “that looks like an animal… yeah, it looks like a sheep…” 

Harry was squinting into Neville’s cup, concentrating. 

“That looks like a cross,” Draco said, referencing his book. “You’re going to be suffering… sorry…” His voice sounded bored. 

“Actually, don’t think it’s a sheep…” Neville whispered. “It’s got wings…”

Professor Trelawney whirled around. “Let me see that, my dear,” she said reprovingly to Neville, sweeping over and snatching Harry’s cup from him. 

Everyone went quiet to watch. 

Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise. 

“The falcon… my dear, you have a deadly enemy.” 

“But everyone knows that,” said Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stared at her. “Well, they do,” said Hermione. “Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who.” 

“Or maybe his deadly enemy is you and your nosiness,” Draco hissed. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Ron snarled. 

“The club… an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…” Professor Trelawney shook her head. 

“I thought that was an acorn,” Neville mumbled. 

“The skull… danger in your path, my dear…” 

Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed. 

Even Draco’s sneering smile faded from his face. 

Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.

“My dear boy... my poor dear boy... no... it is kinder not to say... no... don’t ask me…” 

“What is it, Professor?” said Dean Thomas from Gryffindor at once. 

Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly they crowded around Harry’s table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney’s chair to get a good look at Harry’s cup. 

“My dear,” Professor Trelawney’s huge eyes opened dramatically, “you have the Grim.” 

“The what?” said Harry. 

He could tell that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand; Dean Thomas shrugged at him and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped their hands to their mouths in horror. Michael and Draco looked like Harry just died in front of them. 

“The Grim, my dear, the Grim!” cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Harry hadn’t understood. “The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen... the worst omen... of death!” 

Harry’s stomach lurched. That dog on the cover of Death Omens in Flourish and Blotts; the dog in the shadows of Magnolia Crescent… 

Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth too. Everyone was looking at Harry, everyone except Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney’s chair. 

“I don’t think it looks like a Grim,” she said flatly. 

Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting dislike. 

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future.”

Draco snorted. 

Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side. 

“It looks like a Grim if you do this,” he said, with his eyes almost shut, “but it looks more like a donkey from here,” he said, leaning to the left.

“When you’ve all finished deciding whether I’m going to die or not!?” said Harry, taking even himself by surprise. 

Now nobody seemed to want to look at him. 

“I think we will leave the lesson here for today,” said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. “Yes… please pack away your things…” 

Silently the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books, and closed their bags. Even Draco was avoiding Harry’s eyes. 

“Until we meet again,” said Professor Trelawney faintly, “fair fortune be yours. Oh, and dear,” she pointed at Neville, “you’ll be late next time, so mind you work extra-hard to catch up.”

* * *

Harry, Draco, and Michael descended Professor Trelawney’s ladder and the winding stair in silence, then set off for Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration lesson. It took them so long to find her classroom that, early as they had left Divination, they were only just in time. 

Harry chose a seat right at the back of the room, feeling as though he were sitting in a very bright spotlight; the rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him, as though he were about to drop dead at any moment. He hardly heard what Professor McGonagall was telling them about Animagi (wizards who could transform at will into animals), and wasn’t even watching when she transformed herself in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes. 

“Really, what has got into you all today?” said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at them all. “Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.” 

Everybody’s heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand. 

“Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and...” 

“Ah, of course,” said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?” 

Everyone stared at her. 

“Me,” said Harry, finally. 

“I see,” said Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. “Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney…” 

She stopped, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.” 

Draco sniggered. Harry felt a bit better. Though not everyone was convinced. Michael kept looking at Harry with glazed eyes like he was about to lose him forever. 

When the Transfiguration class had finished, they joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch. 

“Cheer up, Michael, I’m not going to die any time soon,” Harry said, reassuring his friend, as he stared at his broccoli, worrying about Harry more than Harry was worried about himself. 

“Yeah, she’s a complete nut-case… Me and Granger… Forbidden love… Makes me sick just thinking about it,” Draco said, disgusted. 

Michael looked unsure. “Yeah, But… Harry… you haven’t seen a black dog anywhere, have you?”

“Yeah, I have,” said Harry. “I saw one the night I left the Dursleys’.” 

Michael looked even paler than he already did. Draco’s smirk left his face. 

“I’m sure it’s just a stray,” Harry quickly said. “It doesn’t mean anything… It’s just a coincidence…” 

“That’s not ‘just a coincidence’ Harry… Divination isn’t always clear but it always ends up coming true in one way or the other…” 

“Don’t say that…” Draco gave a fake whine. 

“You’re clearly not taking this seriously,” Michael mumbled angrily, “Harry is going to die!”

“I’m not!” Harry said, rather loudly. 

There was a whistle from nearby. “Is it true what the Gryffindors are saying?” 

It was Pansy Parkinson. “Is Harry Potter really going to do our world a favour and die?” 

Harry looked at her, anger welling up inside of him. “Shut your mouth…” 

“Oooh growing balls are we, Potter? Oh, Malfoy… heard about you and Granger. When’s the wedding ceremony? Sure your father would approve? Can you believe it? Draco loves a mudblood~” she sang and giggled with the rest of her Slytherin girl-friends. 

“Rather a mudblood than you, Pug-face!” Draco snarled. 

“Ooh, I’m so very hurt… I’m sure Granger wouldn’t want to date a ferret like you anyway…”

Harry didn’t expect this many people on the Slytherin table to laugh. Pansy usually wasn’t very well liked… 

Even the Gryffindors were looking over at them. Hermione’s face was flushed. 

“Just ignore them,” Michael whispered. 

Harry had to grab Draco’s arm to stop him from getting up. “It’s not worth it…” 

Harry was pleased to get out of the castle after lunch. Yesterday’s rain had cleared; the sky was a clear, pale gray, and the grass was springy and damp underfoot as they set off for their first ever Care of Magical Creatures class. 

Michael and Draco were talking, keeping close behind Harry as they went down the sloping lawns to Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Crabbe and Goyle were already there, looking confused.

“Where'd you go?” Crabbe said. 

“I took an extra subject,” Draco replied, as if he was stupid for not knowing that. 

“Oh…”

When they spotted her, they wished they hadn’t. Pansy Parkinson was whispering with her friends about something. Harry had a feeling he knew what it was that they were talking about. 

Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start. 

“C’mon, now, get a move on!” he called as the class approached. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!” 

For one nasty moment, Harry thought that Hagrid was going to lead them into the forest; Harry had had enough unpleasant experiences in there to last him a lifetime. However, Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, they found themselves outside a kind of paddock. There was nothing in there. 

“Everyone gather ‘round the fence here!” he called. “That’s it... make sure yeh can see... now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books...” 

“Excuse me, Professor, how do we open these books?” came Pansy Parkinson’s voice from the crowd. 

Draco smirked, taking his Monster book of Monsters out and giving it a stroke. It fell open in his hands. Both Pansy and Hermione looked like they had just found out they got a B instead of an A. 

“Look, Draco’s done it…” Hagrid beamed. “Ye ‘ave ter stroke it,” 

“Stroke it?” Pansy narrowed her eyes like she had just been told to wrestle an alligator. 

Harry noticed that they weren’t the only one keeping their books closed with belts. Some people had ropes and chains around theirs. Pansy Parkison found herself a nice looking one to match the cover. 

“It’s not very obvious, though,” Pansy said, “I don’t think any of us had even opened the book to study during the summer because we didn’t know…” 

“Speak for yourself,” Draco drawled, smirking at Hermione, who looked pink with embarrassment. 

“Oh, I… I hadn’t realized…” Hagrid began. Harry could tell he was losing his confidence a bit. He and Michael quickly stroked their books too, followed by the rest of the class. 

“Righ’ then,” said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, “so... so yeh’ve got yer books an’… an’… now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ‘em. Hang on…” He strode away from them into the forest and out of sight. 

“This place’s going downhill, don’t you think, Millicent?” Pansy said in a loud voice. “Who gave that Oaf the permission to teach…” 

“Shut up, Pansy,” Harry said.

Pansy glanced at Harry. Her eyes widened, and she scruttled back, pointing above him. “D- Dementor! Dementor!” 

Harry, Draco and Michael both glanced behind with terror. But there was nothing there. 

Pansy and her friends shrieked with laughter. 

“Oooooh,” she put out her hands, imitating one. “Scared, are we, Potter?” 

“Shove off, will you?” Draco gave her the dirtiest of looks. 

“Oooooooh!” squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock. Trotting toward them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly, orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures. 

“Gee up, there!” he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence. 

“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?” 

Harry could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half horse, half bird, you started to appreciate the Hippogriffs’ gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black. 

Harry heard a gasp of amazement from his right; Michael held a hand to his heart. “They’re so adorable…” 

“Adorable?” Draco said sourly. 

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer…” 

No one seemed to want to. Harry and Michael, however, approached the fence cautiously. 

“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ Hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do. 

“Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ‘cause those talons hurt. Right… who wants ter go first?” 

Most of the class backed farther away in answer. The Hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings; they didn’t seem to like being tethered like this. Harry glanced at Michael nervously, whom looked like he wanted to approach one but hated how everyone stared at both of them expectantly.

“I- I’ll do it…” Harry said. He wanted to prove that he wasn’t weak and gentle like everyone thought he was. He had enough courage to do what the rest of the class couldn’t. 

There was an intake of breath from behind him, and both Lavender and Parvati whispered, “Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!”

Harry ignored them. He climbed over the paddock fence. 

“Good man, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Right then... let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.” 

He untied one of the chains, pulled the grey Hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. 

Pansy’s eyes were narrowed maliciously. 

“Easy now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink… Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much…” 

Harry’s eyes immediately began to water, but he didn’t shut them. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at Harry with one fierce orange eye. 

“Tha’s it,” said Hagrid. “Tha’s it, Harry… now, bow.” 

Harry didn’t feel much like exposing the back of his neck to Buckbeak, but he did as he was told. He gave a short bow and then looked up. The Hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn’t move. 

“Ah,” said Hagrid, sounding worried. “Right... back away, now, Harry, easy does it...” 

But then, to Harry’s enormous surprise, the Hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow. 

“Well done, Harry!” said Hagrid, ecstatic. “Right... yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!” 

Feeling that a better reward would have been to back away, Harry moved slowly toward the Hippogriff and reached out toward it. He patted the beak several times and the Hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying it. 

The class broke into applause, all except for Pansy and her girl-friends, who were looking deeply disappointed.

“Righ’ then, Harry,” said Hagrid. “I reckon he migh’ let yeh ride him!” 

This was more than Harry had bargained for. He was used to a broomstick; but he wasn’t sure a Hippogriff would be quite the same. 

“Yeh climb up there, jus’ behind the wing joint,” said Hagrid, “an’ mind yeh don’ pull any of his feathers out, he won’ like that…” 

Harry put his foot on the top of Buckbeak’s wing and hoisted himself onto its back. Buckbeak stood up. Harry wasn’t sure where to hold on; everything in front of him was covered with feathers. 

“Go on, then!” roared Hagrid, slapping the Hippogriffs hindquarters. Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on either side of Harry, he just had time to seize the Hippogriff around the neck before he was soaring upward. 

It was nothing like a broomstick, and Harry knew which one he preferred; the Hippogriff’s wings beat uncomfortably on either side of him, catching him under his legs and making him feel he was about to be thrown off; the glossy feathers slipped under his fingers and he didn’t dare get a stronger grip; instead of the smooth action of his Nimbus Two Thousand, he now felt himself rocking backward and forward as the hindquarters of the Hippogriff rose and fell with its wings. 

Buckbeak flew him once around the paddock and then headed back to the ground; this was the bit Harry had been dreading; he leaned back as the smooth neck lowered, feeling he was going to slip off over the beak, then felt a heavy thud as the four ill-assorted feet hit the ground. He just managed to hold on and push himself straight again. 

“Good work, Harry!” roared Hagrid as everyone except Pansy and her friends cheered. 

“Okay, who else wants a go?” 

Michael was the first to come running to the paddock, followed by a very nervous looking Draco. The rest of the class soon joined them across the fence, emboldened by Harry’s success.

Hagrid untied the Hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Neville Longbottom ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn’t seem to want to bend its knees. Michael was bowing to his Hippogriff, which bowed back almost immediately. Harry watched him stroking it’s beak with a small smile; he knew Michael was most excited for the Care of Magical Creatures. He loved all sorts of animals, and they seemed to love him back. 

Draco was laughing at Pansy when a particularly large Hippogriff waved its talons at her threateningly before she could even bow. 

He came sauntering over to Buckbeak and gave him a curt bow. When Buckbeak bowed back, he looked at Harry, and Crabbe and Goyle who stood by him. 

“This is very easy,” he drawled, in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’re not very dangerous, are you?” he pet the Hippogriff’s beak. “You big, ugly brute…” 

“Oh no, Draco, back away…” Hagrid said quickly. 

“What?” Draco glanced at the Hippogriff, but it was too late. It happened in a flash of steely talons; Draco let out a high pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Draco, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes. 

“Draco!” Michael squealed, running over to him and falling at his side. 

Harry rushed over, unable to say or do anything. 

“I’m dying!” Draco whimpered as the class panicked. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!”

“It didn’t, you’re alive,” Michael said. “Hagrid!”

Hagrid was in a state of shock. He had gone very white. “Oh no… ‘tis is bad… G- Gotta get ‘im outta here…”

Hermione rushed to open the gates, and the class parted to let Hagrid through as he carried Draco, who was still whimpering about how he didn’t want to go out like this and that he was too young to die.

Harry and Michael both followed after them, along with the rest of the class, without saying a word. Blood splattered on the grass as they made their way down the lawn, toward the castle. 

“They should sack him straight away!” said Blaise Zabini.

“It was Malfoy’s own fault!” Hermione snapped, and Ron nodded in agreement. 

“What’s going to happen to Hagrid?” Michael muttered, his eyes glazed over. 

Harry didn’t know what to say.

They all climbed the stone steps into the deserted entrance hall. Harry and Michael followed after Hagrid, as the class dispersed to their common rooms. 

“Goodness, Hagrid!” gasped Madam Pomfrey, her hand over her heart. “You really thought it was a good idea to show them Hippogriffs for their first lesson!”

“I wan’ed ter make it special…” Hagrid said in a distraught tone, as the Matron tended to Draco quickly on one of the Hospital Wing beds. 

“Will he be alright?” Harry said calmly. He wasn’t too worried about Draco; maybe because he knew Madam Pomfrey could fix cuts like that in a matter of seconds. What he worried about more, was what would happen to Hagrid. 

At that moment, Professor Snape stalked into the room quickly, looking from Hagrid, to Harry, to Draco, who was on the bed, whimpering quietly. 

“Explain yourself, Potter?”

“It wasn’t-” Michael began, before Hagrid interrupted. 

“‘t was me…” he blew his nose on a handkerchief. “‘t was an accident, Professor…”

And so he had told him what happened. 

Professor Snape shook his head contemptly. “Dear dear, looks like someone couldn’t get through one lesson without messing something up…” 

Hagrid had only looked this nervous when he was told he would be going to Azkaban. 

“I’ll be writing to Malfoy’s parents…” 

“D- don’t!” Draco wailed.

But Professor Snape was already gone. 

“Oh shush, Malfoy, it’s not that bad,” Madam Pomfrey gave a sigh. 

Hagrid looked like he was going to fall apart at any moment. He wiped his eyes, muttering, “I on’y wan’ed to give a firs’ good impression…”

“We know, it’s okay,” Michael patted his great, big arm. “I’m sure you won’t be sacked.”

“D’you really fink Mr. Malfoy woul’ let this slide…” Hagrid mumbled, his accent even more incoherent than it usually was. 

In that moment Harry wished Draco wasn’t as dramatic as he always was. The way he lay there, moaning and turning his head, made it look like he was dying. 

Michael was already by his side trying to calm him down, holding a wet napkin to his forehead as Madam Pomfrey administered his potion to a flask. 

During dinner time, Harry and Michael didn’t see Hagrid in his usual seat at the teacher’s table. 

“Malfoy’s been hurt pretty bad,” someone said. 

Crabbe and Goyle didn’t seem to get the severity of the situation; they were stuffing their faces like they hadn’t eaten for weeks. 

“I heard it’s only a scratch, he’ll be fine,” Cedric flipped his hand like it was a non-issue. 

Pansy, meanwhile, was shouting at Harry and Michael, “Aww is your best friend injured? Are you saaad?” 

Harry ignored her, pushing the sausage on his plate around.

Michael turned his head towards the Gryffindor table. Hermione and Ron, who were looking at them, quickly looked away. 

When they went back to the common room, trying to do their homework, neither of them could concentrate. 

“I hope Draco is doing okay,” Michael said. 

“I hope Hagrid is doing okay,” Harry replied, putting his quill down. 

“Should we go and see?” Michael whispered. “I mean it’s still early…” 

Harry nodded. 

The two of them sneaked up into the Hospital Wing. They decided to visit Draco first. 

He was lying there, staring at the ceiling. 

“Does it still hurt?” Harry said. 

“No,” Draco replied. “But now I’m traumatised…” 

There was a pause. 

“What d’you suppose will happen to Hagrid?” Draco finally said. “I mean… why did he think it was a good idea to bring those savages to class?” 

“It was kind of your fault, too,” Michael said, surprising Harry. “You shouldn’t have insulted Buckbeak like that.” 

Draco didn’t say anything. 

“Maybe you should… tone down on insulting people… and creatures…” 

“Trying to lecture me now, Munroe?” Draco said, with a small, weak scoff. “Think that I deserved it?”

“What, I never said that!” Michael looked surprised. “Just…” 

The door had opened. Madam Pomfrey looked like she had just seen a ghost. “Oh my, what are you two doing here? Get out, go on. Back to your common room!” 

So Harry and Michael left. But they didn’t go to their common room; they headed outside. 

The grass was still wet and looked almost black in the twilight. When they reached Hagrid’s hut, they knocked, and a voice growled, “C’min.” 

Hagrid was sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, had his head in Hagrid’s lap. One look told them that Hagrid had been drinking a lot; there was a pewter tankard almost as big as a bucket in front of him, and he seemed to be having difficulty getting them into focus. 

“‘Spect it’s a record,” he said thickly, when he recognized them. “Don’ reckon they’ve ever had a teacher who lasted on’y a day before.” 

“You haven’t been fired, Hagrid, have you?” Michael muttered. 

“Not yet,” said Hagrid miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the tankard. “But’s only a matter o’ time. I hope Draco’s a’right…”

“He’s fine,” Harry said. “He’s always this dramatic… it was only a scratch. I don’t see why they should fire you over this…”

But Hagrid didn’t look so sure. “School gov’nors have bin told,” he said miserably. “They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left Hippogriffs fer later… one flobberworms or summat…” 

“But it was sort of Draco’s fault,” Michael said, “he insulted Buckbeak… not that he deserved it but… he wasn’t listening to instructions, was he?”

But both Harry and Michael knew that this didn’t matter. If Mr. Malfoy received Snape’s letter, there was no doubt that he’d pressure the Governors to do something about it. 

“We were witnesses, we saw what happened…You know we’ll always back you up, Hagrid. And I’m sure Draco would, too,” Michael said reassuringly. 

Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes. He grabbed both Harry and Michael and pulled them into a bone-breaking hug. It reeked of alcohol. 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Harry muttered, trying not to breathe in the fumes. 

“Yer righ’, o’course…” Hagrid said, stumbling towards the door, and outside. 

They heard a loud splash. 

“What’s he doing?” Michael whispered. 

A moment later, Hagrid came back. They realized that he must’ve stuck his head in a water barrel; his beard was dripping and his eyes looked panicked. He had sobered up. 

“WHAT D’YEH THINK YOU’RE DOIN’, EH?” he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a foot in the air. “YEH’RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN, YOU, MICHAEL! LETTIN’ HIM!” 

Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the door. “C’mon!” Hagrid said angrily. “I’m takin’ yer both back up ter school an’ don’ let me catch yeh walkin’ down ter see me after dark again. I’m not worth that!” 


	5. Defence Against the Dark Arts

It wasn’t terribly long before Draco reappeared in classes again. Both Harry and Michael agreed that he’d return sooner if he wasn’t so melodramatic about his injury. 

He walked into the Potions classroom, his arm bandaged, acting like he was a hero of some heroic battle. 

“Does it still hurt?” Michael asked, keeping up by his side. Crabbe and Goyle were walking behind them, looking impressed. 

“Yeah, it hurts a bit. Not much… I was very brave, though, wasn’t I,” he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle, “Michael was there, he saw how well I was taking it in the Hospital Wing. Didn’t even cry…” 

Michael gave an awkward smile, “Er… sure…”

The two of them sat by Harry, who was peering into his Potion book. 

Draco’s smirk disappeared from his face when he saw Hermione and Ron at his table. But it soon reappeared again. 

“Let’s go…” Ron said, closing his book. 

“No, please, don’t mind me,” Draco drawled, glancing at the two of them. 

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. 

“How does he not get detention for being late? If it was me I’d be scrubbing the bathroom floors,” Ron told Hermione. 

“Silence!” Snape snapped. “Ten points from Gryffindor. Keep your mouths shut, the both of you…” 

“I didn’t even say anything,” Hermione whispered. 

Draco was smiling mischievously. 

They were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. They set up their cauldrons, Ron and Hermione put on their table, not wanting to move to risk angering Snape again. 

“Sir,” Draco called, “sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm...” 

“Weasley, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him,” said Snape without looking up. 

Ron went brick red. 

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” he hissed at Draco. 

Draco smirked across the table. “Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots.” 

Both Harry and Michael shook their heads. Harry couldn’t keep himself from smiling. 

“What’s so funny,” said Ron, taking Draco’s roots angrily and chopping them up unevenly so that they were all different sizes. 

“Professor,” drawled Draco, “Weasley’s mutilating my roots, sir.”

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair. 

“Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley.” 

“But, sir!” Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces. 

“Now,” said Snape in his most dangerous voice. Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Draco, then took up the knife again. 

“And, sir, I’ll need this shrivelfig skinned,” said Draco, even more amusingly. 

“Draco,” Michael hissed. 

“What? I do…” 

“Granger, you can skin Malfoy’s shrivelfig,” said Snape, without even looking at them. 

Hermione took Draco’s shrivelfig as Ron began trying to repair the damage to the roots he now had to use. She skinned it and pushed it back across the table at Draco without speaking. Draco was smirking more broadly than ever. 

“Thanks, Granger,” he raised his eyebrows. 

Hermione looked away. Ron was now looking at Harry, who was trying not to laugh. 

“Is Hagrid alright?” he said quietly. 

“He’s fine. He’s not fired, thankfully… not yet anyway…” 

“That’s good at least… he really tried, didn’t he?” 

“That’s another ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley,” Snape sauntered over to them, a smirk plastered on his face. 

Draco jeered. “Granger, can you stir my cauldron for me?” 

Hermione looked at Snape, and then back to Draco. She took his ladle and began to stir slowly. 

Professor Snape turned back around, and swaggered to his desk. 

“You’re a real ass, you know that?” Ron said. “How do you two put up with him?” 

Michael shrugged. “I wouldn’t take it too personally if I were you…” 

Harry was sniggering silently, staring at his cauldron. 

Michael elbowed him. 

“Sorry… I just…” he began. 

But they were distracted. 

A few cauldrons away, Neville Longbottom was in trouble. Neville regularly went to pieces in Potions lessons; it was his worst subject, and his great fear of Professor Snape made things ten times worse. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned…

“Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape, ladling some up and allowing to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see. “Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one cat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?” 

Neville was pink and trembling. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears. 

“Please, sir,” said Hermione, “please, I could help Neville put it right...”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” said Snape coldly, and Hermione went as pink as Neville. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.” 

Snape moved away, leaving Neville breathless with fear. “Help me!” he moaned to Hermione. 

Draco couldn’t stifle his laughs. 

Seamus Finnigan’s voice came from across the room. 

It only caught Harry’s attention when he mentioned “Sirius Black…”

“He’s been sighted! Not too far from here, of course. Muggle had spotted him. Called the hotline. Though it took a while for the Ministry to get there according to the Daily Prophet. By the time they arrived, he was gone.”

Pansy Parkinson had now turned in her chair so that she was facing Harry’s table. There was a small smile on her face. “I bet Potter thinks he can catch him single handedly… I wouldn’t count on it, though… if a Dementor had him fainting…” she giggled. 

Draco glanced at her, then looked back at Harry. 

“Why would I want to catch him?” Harry muttered. 

Ron leaned in, intrigued. Hermione was too busy whispering instructions to Neville. 

“Mind your own business,” Malfoy snarled. 

“Potter wants to leave it to the Dementors, of course, he’s too scared to do it himself…” Pansy said, loud enough for Harry to hear.

“She’s just making up,” Draco said quickly, “ignore her…” 

The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron. 

“Everyone gather ‘round,” said Snape, his black eyes glittering, “and watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.” 

The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Harry and Michael were leaning in to watch. 

Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville’s potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor’s throat. 

There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape’s palm. 

The Gryffindors burst into applause. 

Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown. 

“Five points from Gryffindor,” said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.” 

Harry, Draco, and Michael climbed the steps to the entrance hall, Crabbe and Goyle trying to keep up behind them. Harry was still thinking about what Pansy had said, while Draco was laughing his head off. “Can you believe that idiot? Thinking he could get away with cheating in Professor Snape’s class! The amount of points he takes from Gryffindor, no wonder they always lose…” 

Hermione was making her way past them, holding her Muggle Study books. 

“Oi, Granger…” Draco called. “Should help me chop my potion ingredients again sometime!” he howled. “That’s all mudbloods are good for; to be servants…” 

Crabbe and Goyle were laughing. Michael and Harry didn’t find it particularly funny. They watched Hermione make her way upstairs quickly. 

The three of them turned into the Great Hall for lunch. 

They sat down at the Slytherin table. 

“Can’t believe you had Weasley and Granger as your personal servants for Potions,” Blaise Zabini was laughing. 

“As I said to Harry and Michael, it’s all Mudbloods are good for…” 

“Can you believe it!” they heard Ron Weasley from the Gryffindor table. “He had me cut his roots!” 

Draco squinted. “Didn’t Granger go upstairs?”

Harry looked behind him, surprised to see Hermione by Ron’s side at the table. 

“Did you see Granger come in?” Draco asked Crabbe and Goyle. 

They shrugged stupidly. 

“She was already here,” said a Slytherin boy from the year below. He had his hood up, bags under his eyes, and was leaning on his elbow like he wanted nothing more but to go to sleep. 

Harry recognised him as Crimson Meyrose. Victoria Meyrose’s brother. 

“We’ve got Defence Against the Dark Arts this afternoon,” Michael said eagerly. “Professor Lupin will be teaching us… I wonder what it’ll be like.” 

“Bet it’ll suck,” Draco said lazily, poking his fork in his chicken drumstick. 

“Just pick it up,” Crabbe said, “It’s easy…” 

“I’m learning manners,” Draco said, taking his knife and cutting off a piece. “Mother’s been very adamant that I stick to proper etiquette.” 

“So very posh,” Harry said sarcastically.

Professor Lupin wasn’t there when they arrived at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and were talking when he finally entered the room. 

Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals. 

“D’you think I should give him some money to get better robes?” Draco whispered. 

“So charitable of you,” Michael muttered back. 

“Good afternoon,” Professor Lupin said. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.” 

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. They had never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts class before, unless you counted the memorable class last year when their old teacher had brought a cageful of pixies to class and set them loose. Draco, for the first time, looked intrigued. 

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. “If you’d follow me.” 

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum. Peeves didn’t look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song. 

“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin...”

Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually showed some respect toward the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take this; to their surprise, he was still smiling. 

“I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” he said pleasantly. “Mr. Filch won’t be able to get in to his brooms.” 

Filch was the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who waged a constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin’s words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry. 

Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand. “This is a useful little spell,” he told the class over his shoulder. “Please watch closely.” 

He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, “Waddiwasi!” and pointed it at Peeves. 

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves’s left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing. 

Draco was nodding impressively, to Harry’s great surprise. 

They set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect. He led them down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door. 

“Inside, please,” said Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back. The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. 

Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. 

His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape said, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.”

He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Draco glanced over at Hermione, confused. “Where’d she come from?” he whispered. 

Neville was scarlet. 

Harry glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers. Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows. 

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” he said, “and I am sure he will perform it admirably.” 

Neville’s face went, if possible, even redder. 

Draco gave a loud scoff, and Snape’s lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap. 

“Now, then,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall. 

“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a Boggart in there.” 

Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about. 

Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively. 

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks... I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice. 

“So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?” 

Hermione put up her hand. “It’s a shape-shifter,” she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.” 

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed.

“So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears. 

“This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?” 

Trying to answer a question with Hermione nearby, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air, was very off-putting, but Harry had a go. 

“Er... because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shape it should be?” 

“Precisely,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione put her hand down, looking a little disappointed. “It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake... tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening. 

“The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. 

“We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” said the class together. 

“This is ridiculous,” Draco whispered to Harry. 

“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville.” 

The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as though he were heading for the gallows. 

“Right, Neville,” said Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?” 

Neville’s lips moved, but no noise came out. 

“I didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” said Professor Lupin cheerfully. 

Neville looked around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, then said, in barely more than a whisper, “Professor Snape.” 

Nearly everyone laughed. Draco almost fell to the floor, grabbing onto Michael’s robes for support. 

Neville grinned apologetically. 

Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful. “Professor Snape… hmmm… Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?” 

“Er... yes,” said Neville nervously. “But... I don’t want the Boggart to turn into her either.” 

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Professor Lupin, now smiling. “I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?” 

Neville looked startled, but said, “Well… always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress… green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf.” 

“And a handbag?” prompted Professor Lupin. 

“A big red one,” said Neville. 

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin. “Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?” 

“Yes,” said Neville uncertainty, plainly wondering what was coming next. 

“When the Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape,” said Lupin. “And you will raise your wand... thus... and cry ‘Riddikulus’... and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag.” 

There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently. 

“If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn,” said Professor Lupin. “I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…” 

The room went quiet. Harry thought… What scared him most in the world? His first thought was Lord Voldemort... a Voldemort returned to full strength. But before he had even started to plan a possible counterattack on a Boggart-Voldemort, a horrible image came floating to the surface of his mind… A rotting, glistening hand, slithering back beneath a black cloak… a long, rattling breath from an unseen mouth… then a cold so penetrating it felt like drowning… Harry shivered, then looked around, hoping no one had noticed. Many people had their eyes shut tight. 

“Everyone ready?” said Professor Lupin. 

Harry felt a lurch of fear. He wasn’t ready. How could you make a Dementor less frightening? But he didn’t want to ask for more time; everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves. 

“Neville, we’re going to back away,” said Professor Lupin. “Let you have a clear field, all right? I’ll call the next person forward… Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot...” 

They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. 

He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready. 

“Go Longbottom!” Draco whistled mockingly; the rest of the Slytherins laughed. 

“On the count of three, Neville,” said Professor Lupin, ignoring the Slytherins, and pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One... two... three… now!” 

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin’s wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. 

Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville. 

Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes. 

“R- r- riddikulus! “ squeaked Neville. 

There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag. 

There was a roar of laughter, even Draco and the Slytherins were crying; the Boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Parvati! Forward!” 

Parvati from Gryffindor walked forward, her face set. 

Snape rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a bloodstained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising... 

“Riddikulus!” cried Parvati. A bandage unraveled at the mummy’s feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off. 

“Excellent! Ron, you next!” 

Ron leapt forward. Crack! Quite a few people screamed. 

A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. 

For a moment, Harry thought Ron had frozen. Then... 

“Riddikulus!” bellowed Ron, and the spider’s legs vanished.

It rolled and rolled until it hit Michael’s feet. He squealed, and in that moment, the spider had transformed into a nine-foot, towering Cedric. 

Harry saw Michael’s pale face as he raised his wand. He muttered, “Riddikulus,” and Cedric had turned tiny, running around and squealing in a high-pitched voice. 

The nearest person was Draco, and so it had advanced on him. 

The Boggart took shape of a Werewolf. 

Draco stumbled back a few feet, and shouted, “Riddikulus!” 

The Werewolf turned into a chihuahua. 

Harry noticed that Professor Lupin was slightly stumbled by it. 

The Chihuahua ran up to Harry, barking. 

Harry braced himself.

But Professor Lupin had jumped in front of him. 

The chihuahua had vanished. For a second, everyone looked wildly around to see where it was. Then they saw a silvery-white orb hanging in the air in front of Lupin, who said, “Riddikulus!” almost lazily. 

Crack! 

“Forward, Neville, and finish him off!” said Lupin as the Boggart landed on the floor as a cockroach. 

Crack! 

Snape was back. 

This time Neville charged forward looking determined. 

“Riddikulus!” he shouted, and they had a split second’s view of Snape in his lacy dress before Neville let out a great “Ha!” of laughter, and the Boggart exploded, burst into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone.

“Excellent!” cried Professor Lupin as the class broke into applause. “Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone… Let me see… five points to Gryffindor and Slytherin for every person to tackle the Boggart... ten for Neville because he did it twice… and five each to Hermione and Harry.” 

“But I didn’t do anything,” said Harry. 

“You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry,” Lupin said lightly. “Very well, everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on Boggarts and summarize it for me… to be handed in on Monday. That will be all.” 

Talking excitedly, the class left the staffroom. Harry, however, wasn’t feeling cheerful. Professor Lupin had deliberately stopped him from tackling the Boggart. Why? Was it because he’d seen Harry collapse on the train, and thought he wasn’t up to much? Had he thought Harry would pass out again? But no one else seemed to have noticed anything. 

“Did you see me tackle that Werewolf?” Draco smirked. “Can’t believe Michael’s so scared of Cedric…”

“You don’t know what he’s like,” Michael muttered. 

“Whatever… Did you see Pansy’s face? She was dying to show off but it never got to her...” 

“That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” said Michael as they made their way back to the classroom to get their bags. 

“Colour me impressed, can’t remember when we had this much fun in class,” Draco said approvingly. They passed by Hermione and Ron. 

“I wonder what Granger’s Boggart would’ve been?” Draco said loud enough for her to hear, “A piece of Homework that got nine out of ten?”

Hermione stopped. 

“Leave her alone!” Ron snapped. 

“What are you, her boyfriend?” Draco sniggered. 

“What are you, jealous?” Ron said. 

The Gryffindors howled.

Draco’s smile was wiped off his face and he stalked off, leaving Harry and Michael behind. 

“Honestly, he won’t shut up about you,” Ron said to Hermione as they walked behind Harry and Michael. “I think someone’s got a crush…”

“It’s not like that!” Hermione snapped. “He’s only making fun of me because I’m muggle-born… It makes no logical sense…”

“Remember what Trelawney said…”

“That’s all complete nonsense, Ron, you heard what Professor McGonagall said about her…” 

After dinner, when Harry went looking for Michael, he found him with Cedric. 

Cedric had his arms around him and was saying in a very sorrowful tone, “I can’t believe you would be scared of me, little brother… I’m so offended… I can’t believe you would do that to me after everything I did for you… I’m so ashamed…” 

When he had spotted Harry, a smile appeared on his face and he let Michael go. “He’s a silly boy with silly fears, Harry. There’s nothing to worry about…” 

“Sure,” Harry said blankly, taking Michael’s arm and walking away. 

In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people’s favorite class. Only Draco had anything bad to say about Professor Lupin, even if it was his usual unserious jokes. 

“Someone should seriously get him proper robes,” he would say to Harry and Michael whilst they walked down the corridor past him. “He dresses like our house elf, Dobby...” 

But no one else cared that Professor Lupin’s robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. 

After Boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps they moved on to Kappas, creepy. water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds. 

Harry only wished he was as happy with some of his other classes. Worst of all was Potions. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one was in any doubt why. The story of the Boggart assuming Snape’s shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother’s clothes, had traveled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn’t seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin’s name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever. 

Harry was also growing to dread the hours he spent in Professor Trelawney’s stifling tower room, deciphering lopsided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Professor Trelawney’s enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at him. He couldn’t like Professor Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect bordering on reverence by many of the class. 

Both him and Draco would make fun of it most of the time as they went through their textbooks. 

“Stop taking it so seriously,” Draco would say to Michael, “it’s all utter garbage anyway…” 

This was probably the only thing that he and Hermione could agree on. 

She hadn’t lifted her hand once in Divination.

Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. They were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence. 

“Why would anyone keep these as pets?” said Draco in a sour tone, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the flobberworms’ throats. He eventually squashed his in annoyance, which made Michael very upset. 

Cedric had forced Harry and Michael to go to his drama club. 

Harry probably hated it even more than Potions. Cedric would round them up on stage and make them perform the most cliche plays where he’d always end up as the hero. He didn’t think that he’d get wrapped up in all of this again now that Lockhart was gone. 

Whenever he and Michael would try to escape, he would somehow talk them into staying, or make them feel guilty for leaving. One particularly bad day, Cedric had forced Harry into playing a victim to a Dementor, and then jump in front of him, saving his life. It was outright humiliating. 

At the start of October, however, Harry had something else to occupy him, something so enjoyable it more than made up for his unsatisfactory classes and extracurricular activities. The Quidditch season was approaching, and Cedric, who was also the captain of the Slytherin team, called a meeting on Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season. 

“As you all know, this is my last year here at Hogwarts, and I want to make it count. I’m not about to let Wood walk away with the final win…” 

The Slytherin team were all nodding. Cedric had been much less flamboyant, and much more serious when it came to Quidditch. 

“We’re so much better than Gryffindors. Or any other team, for that matter. There’s no excuses this year. Victoria, Raphael, score as much as you possibly can. I don’t care how many Gryffindors you have to unseat. Cole and Evalyn, aim those bludgers at the opposing team. Take out as many as you can, there’s no space for empathy. Draco, don’t allow the Gryffindor chasers to score a single point, don’t let anything distract you. Harry, catch the snitch as soon as possible, before the other team could even get close to scoring. I repeat, we do not want Gryffindors to score a single point! Not one!” 

Everyone seemed pumped up. Harry knew what he had to do. He never failed to catch the snitch, he knew he wouldn’t fail this time.

Harry and Draco returned to the Slytherin common room one evening after training, cold and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing excitedly. 

“What’s happened?” Harry asked Michael, who was reading the Monster Book of Monsters by the fireplace. 

“First Hogsmeade weekend,” Michael replied, pointing at a notice that had appeared on the battered old bulletin board. “End of October. Halloween.” 

“Can’t wait,” Draco sat down next to him with a huff. “It’ll be nice to get a change of scenery for once… Don’t you think?” 

“Hmm…” Michael was too busy reading to really notice. 

“I just hope that Professor Snape will accept my permission form,” Harry muttered. 

Michael looked up from his book, “what about Sirius Black? Would they let you go with him on the loose?” 

Harry sighed, “It’s not like we’re going to be all alone…” 

“He didn’t have a problem killing a bunch of muggles in a crowd, though, did he?” Draco sighed.

That evening, Harry had trouble falling asleep. He was now thinking about Hogsmeade, and how much he wanted to go. He knew that Snape didn’t like him very much, would he accept his permission form? But then, he thought, would Snape even care if Sirius Black got to him anyway?

Harry heard shuffling coming from his right; his curtain was drawn and he couldn’t see what it was, so he took his finger and moved it an inch to the side to see.

Michael was taking his wand out, and shushing at Cheshire, who made a fuss over the bed. He moved out of view, and Harry heard his footsteps draw quieter. 

‘Where is he going?’ he thought. 

A few seconds later, Harry also got out of bed, and saw that cheshire was staring right at him. He blinked and quickly grabbed his invisibility cloak from under his bed. 

The castle was dead quiet, Harry hadn’t even checked what time it was, but he guessed it was around midnight. He stopped once, when Michael stopped, glancing around the corner nervously, and setting off again. 

Harry wondered if it was a good idea to follow his friend. But what could he have been up to that he was keeping secret? 

Michael opened the door of some abandoned classroom, glancing around to make sure there was no one there, and entered. Harry squeezed through the gap of the door as it closed, and stayed well against the wall. 

The furniture was covered in white sheets, pushed against the walls to leave a big space in the middle. Michael stepped into the middle, still gripping his wand. 

Next moment, the door opened again, making Harry almost jump out of his skin.

“Do you think this is a good idea,” Michael spoke quietly. 

“Why d’you say that?” came a voice that Harry only heard a few times before. He turned his head to see who it belonged to. It was a taller, older student from Gryffindor. Jonathan Crowe. He was the Gryffindor Seeker. 

Harry looked back to Michael, his eyes wide. 

“With the Dementors about, trying to catch Sirius Black… won’t it look a bit suspicious?” 

“Do you suggest we do this during the day?” Jonathan Crowe asked, stepping forward into the moonlight. 

“I don’t think my friends would appreciate it very much…” Michael stated. “Definitely not my brother.” 

“Why not? Our little duelling club shouldn’t cause too much suspicion, should it?” 

Michael was brushing his hair from his face, Harry could see that he was smiling. “I guess not… but I know what Draco and Cedric are like…” 

Harry stepped as quietly as he could toward the ajar classroom door, before knocking over a pile of books and freezing. 

Michael and Jonathan both looked toward the books in terror, and Harry swallowed nervously, keeping as still as he possibly could. He was sure that through the silence they could hear his heart thumping in his chest. 

“Anyway,” Jonathan began, looking back towards the red haired boy, “let’s begin…” 

Harry held his breath, watching the two approach each other, lifting their wands and bowing. They turned, allowing some distance between them, and preparing for their duel. 

Harry suddenly remembered that valentine card Michael got last year. Someone written to him asking him to come duel during midnight. He should have known; Michael and Jonathan Crowe went face to face in the Duelling Club last year, and impressed both the teachers and the students. 

“Three… two… one…” 

“Everte Statum,” Michael swung his wand forward. 

“Protego!” Jonathan shouted, following up with an, “expelliarmus!” 

Michael’s wand flew out of his hand, clattering to the floor. 

“You need to work on your reaction time, Munroe,” Jonathan said finally, straightening up. 

Michael rushed over to grab his wand. 

“Oooooooooh…” came a sudden voice they recognised to be Peeves’. “You two out of bed again? Can’t wait to go tell Filch, ahahaha…” 

“Get lost,” Jonathan said irritably. 

“Meow…” 

Everyone went dead quiet. Mrs. Norris had appeared through the ajar door, staring at them with her accusatory eyes.

“OH FIIIILCH!” Peeves sang, disappearing back through the wall where he came from. 

Harry didn’t think. He threw his cloak off, and whispered, “Come on, quick!” 

Michael and Jonathan both looked startled. 

“Harry… did you follow me?” Michael muttered. 

“Under the cloak,” Harry said, ignoring his question. 

Both Michael and Jonathan hid under Harry’s invisibility cloak, just in time, as Filch came in. 

“What is it, my sweet?” He said in a hoarse, tired voice. “Peeves… playing stupid tricks again…”

But Mrs. Norris was looking towards where Harry, Michael and Jonathan were hidden. 

“Come on,” Filch said, turning around and leaving. 

The three of them held their breaths until his distant footsteps faded, and pulled off the cloak. 

“What are you doing here?” Michael asked. 

“I just… I just saw you were going somewhere and…”

“I can explain,” Michael said. “All we were doing is duelling… after the duelling club last year we decided to… well… just… don’t tell Draco…”

Harry sighed, “fine, let’s go back to the common room before Filch comes back again…”

It soon came time for them to give their permission slips in to Professor Snape for Hogsmeade. Harry waited behind Draco and Michael. Snape hadn’t even looked at Draco’s when accepting it. Harry was hoping he’d do the same when it comes to him. 

He handed his form to Snape, and he eyed it suspiciously. 

Harry held his breath. 

“Lucius Malfoy?” Professor Snape looked at him, “am I supposed to believe that he’s your legal guardian, Potter?” 

“W- well, he technically was my guardian during the-”

“But he isn’t your legal guardian, is he, Potter?”

“Professor,” Draco interrupted, “excuse me, if I may, sir… Harry’s family is a bunch of awful muggles who don’t really care whether he’s safe of not… Plus, there’s no need to remind you of my father’s standing with the Ministry…”

“I’m afraid I can’t make an exception, that with Sirius Black on the loose.” 

Harry’s spirits fell. He knew it would be impossible to convince Snape into letting him go. 

Draco and Michael looked at him apologetically. 

“We’ll bring you back lots of sweets,” Draco said, as they made their way out of their common room. “We’ll keep in touch with our three way journals.”

“Yeah, and there will always be next time, Harry…” Michael added. 

But it didn’t make Harry feel better. His friends were all going to Hogsmeade, and he’d be left all on his own. 

“Hey, can’t you use the invisibility cloak,” Draco said all of a sudden. 

“No,” Michael said, “remember what Professor Dumbledore said; Dementors can see through invisibility cloaks…” 

They made their way up to Transfiguration. Though they were halted by a small crowd of girls, surrounding Lavender Brown. 

Apparently her pet rabbit had died, and it happened on the day Professor Trelawney predicted that something she was dreading would happen. 

Draco thought this was funny. 

“How tragic…” 

Michael gave him a look, “do you have no empathy?” 

“What did I do?” Draco gave an audible sigh, “you’re such a pain…” 

“Guys…” Harry breathed. 

“Well, if her prediction about Lavender Brown came true, then surely you and Hermione-”

“Shut up…” Draco snarled. “Bet it was just a coincidence…” 

“That’s a very unlikely coincidence…”

“Who dreads the death of their pet rabbit on a daily basis?” Draco enquired.

“I don’t know…” Michael looked away. 

Draco was now smirking, “exactly… midget…” 

Michael let out a big sigh. “Can’t believe Harry won’t be with us in Hogsmeade… how will I put up with you all by myself?” 

“having second thoughts, Munroe?” 

Michael didn’t look so sure, “I really want to go though… I’m sorry, Harry,” he said. 

“It’s fine, you should go,” Harry muttered gloomily. “At least I’ll be ahead of you with homework…” 

* * *

Halloween came rather quickly. Students who had permission forms would go to Hogsmeade, and then return for the Halloween Feast in the evening. 

Draco and Michael were excited. 

“I can’t wait to go to Honeydukes.”

“I can’t wait to try the Butterbeer…” 

“Can’t believe you never had it… seriously…”

“What? Cedric told me it was only for adults!” 

Harry walked behind the two, trying not to be so miserable. But it was hard. He felt like he was missing out just because a killer was on the loose looking for him. Maybe he would go try to find Black himself, like everyone said, just so he could be treated like a normal human being again. 

“I’ll buy one of everything for Harry… hopefully they let us put Butterbeer in a bottle or something…” Draco said. 

“Thanks,” Harry said half-heartedly. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael muttered, patting his arm gently.

Harry gave a fake smile, and turned back around, as Draco and Michael left the school. 

He figured that he would go to the library to do his homework. He didn’t feel like staying all alone in the Slytherin common room. So he made his way up the staircase. 

“Harry! Harry! Hi, Harry!” 

It was Colin Creevey, a second year who was deeply in awe of Harry and never missed an opportunity to speak to him. He was running down the steps, ecstatic. 

“Aren’t you going to Hogsmeade, Harry? Why not? Hey...” 

Colin looked eagerly around at his friends, who had followed him, “you can come and sit with us in the Great Hall, if you like, Harry!” 

“Er... no, thanks, Colin,” said Harry quickly “I- I’ve got to go to the library, got to get some work done.”

Harry wandered dispiritedly toward the library, but halfway there he changed his mind; he didn’t feel like working. He turned around and came face-to-face with Filch, who had obviously just seen off the last of the Hogsmeade visitors. 

“What are you doing?” Filch snarled suspiciously. 

“Nothing,” said Harry truthfully. 

“Nothing!” spat Filch, his jowls quivering unpleasantly. “A likely story! Sneaking around on your own... why aren’t you in Hogsmeade buying Stink Pellets and Belch Powder and Whizzing Worms like the rest of your nasty little friends?” 

Harry shrugged. 

“Well, get back to your common room where you belong!” snapped Filch, and he stood glaring until Harry had passed out of sight. 

But Harry didn’t go back to the common room; he climbed a staircase, thinking vaguely of visiting the Owlery to see Hedwig, and was walking along another corridor when a voice from inside one of the rooms said, “Harry?” 

Harry doubled back to see who had spoken and met Professor Lupin, looking around his office door. 

“What are you doing?” said Lupin, though in a very different voice from Filch. “Where are Draco and Michael?” 

“Hogsmeade,” said Harry, in a would-be casual voice.

“Ah,” said Lupin. He considered Harry for a moment. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson.” 

“A what?” said Harry. 

He followed Lupin into his office. In the corner stood a very large tank of water. A sickly green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers. 

“Water demon,” said Lupin, surveying the Grindylow thoughtfully. “We shouldn’t have much difficulty with him, not after the Kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle.” 

The Grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in a corner. 

“Cup of tea?” Lupin said, looking around for his kettle. “I was just thinking of making one.” 

“All right,” said Harry awkwardly. 

Lupin tapped the kettle with his wand and a blast of steam issued suddenly from the spout.

“Sit down,” said Lupin, taking the lid off a dusty tin. “I’ve only got teabags, I’m afraid... but I daresay you’ve had enough of tea leaves?” 

Harry looked at him. Lupin’s eyes were twinkling. 

“How did you know about that?” Harry asked. 

“Professor McGonagall told me,” said Lupin, passing Harry a chipped mug of tea. “You’re not worried, are you?” 

“No,” said Harry. He thought for a moment of telling Lupin about the dog he’d seen in Magnolia Crescent but decided not to. He didn’t want Lupin to think he was a coward, especially since Lupin already seemed to think he couldn’t cope with a Boggart. Something of Harry’s thoughts seemed to have shown on his face, because Lupin said, “Anything worrying you, Harry?” 

“No,” Harry lied. He drank a bit of tea and watched the Grindylow brandishing a fist at him. “Yes,” he said suddenly, putting his tea down on Lupin’s desk. “You know that day we fought the Boggart?” 

“Yes,” said Lupin slowly. 

“Why didn’t you let me fight it?” said Harry abruptly. 

Lupin raised his eyebrows. 

“I would have thought that was obvious, Harry,” he said, sounding surprised. 

Harry, who had expected Lupin to deny that he’d done any such thing, was taken aback. 

“Why?” he said again. 

“Well,” said Lupin, frowning slightly, “I assumed that if the Boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort.” 

Harry stared. Not only was this the last answer he’d expected, but Lupin had said Voldemort’s name. The only person Harry had ever heard say the name aloud (apart from himself) was Professor Dumbledore. 

“Clearly, I was wrong,” said Lupin, still frowning at Harry. “But I didn’t think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic.” 

“I didn’t think of Voldemort,” said Harry honestly. “I... I remembered those Dementors.” 

“I see,” said Lupin thoughtfully. “Well, well… I’m impressed.” He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry’s face. “That suggests that what you fear most of all is... fear. Very wise, Harry.” 

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he drank some more tea. 

“So you’ve been thinking that I didn’t believe you capable of fighting the Boggart?” said Lupin shrewdly. 

“Well… yeah,” said Harry. He was suddenly feeling a lot happier. “Professor Lupin, you know the Dementors...” He was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” called Lupin. The door opened, and in came Snape. 

He was carrying a goblet, which was smoking faintly, and stopped at the sight of Harry, his black eyes narrowing. 

“Ah, Severus,” said Lupin, smiling. “Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?” 

Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering between Harry and Lupin. 

“I was just showing Harry my Grindylow,” said Lupin pleasantly, pointing at the tank. 

“Fascinating,” said Snape, without looking at it. “You should drink that directly, Lupin.” 

“Yes, Yes, I will,” said Lupin. 

“I made an entire cauldronful,” Snape continued. “If you need more.” 

“I should probably have some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus.” 

“Not at all,” said Snape, but there was a look in his eye Harry didn’t like. He backed out of the room, unsmiling and watchful. 

Harry looked curiously at the goblet. Lupin smiled. 

“Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me,” he said. “I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex.” 

He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. 

“Pity sugar makes it useless,” he added, taking a sip and shuddering. 

“Why...?” Harry began. 

Lupin looked at him and answered the unfinished question. “I’ve been feeling a bit off-color,” he said. “This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren’t many wizards who are up to making it.” 

Professor Lupin took another sip and Harry had a crazy urge to knock the goblet out of his hands. 

“Professor Snape’s very interested in the Dark Arts,” he blurted out. 

“Really?” said Lupin, looking only mildly interested as he took another gulp of potion. 

“Some people reckon...” Harry hesitated, then plunged recklessly on, “some people reckon he’d do anything to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job.” 

Lupin drained the goblet and pulled a face. 

“Disgusting,” he said. “Well, Harry, I’d better get back to work. See you at the feast later.” 

“Right,” said Harry, putting down his empty teacup. The empty goblet was still smoking. 

* * *

“We got the lot,” Draco empied a large bag onto Harry’s bed. There was a pile of all the sweets imaginable. Harry didn’t recognise a lot of them. There was enough here to last him until the next Hogsmeade trip.

“Also,” Michael smiled, handing a bottle to Harry. “Butterbeer…” 

“Thank you,” Harry said, taking a Jelly Slug rather unenthusiastically. 

“It was so much fun,” Michael glowed, “We visited all of the shops, and then went to the Three Broomsticks…”

“Michael ended up spilling his butterbeer on Parkinson can you believe it?” Draco grinned. 

“It was an accident! She came out of nowhere.” 

“Oh my god she was screaming…” 

Harry gave a faint sort of smile. 

“Oh,” Draco grinned, “Weasley and Granger had a full blown argument about their shabby pets… Apparently Granger’s cat ate Weasley’s rat… About time too…”

“Draco!” Michael gasped.

“Oh, there was also this Ogre that came out of nowhere. Disgusting… can’t believe they let Ogres in… wait till my Father hears about it...”

“They were giving out free fudge samples at Honeydukes… look we also got you some…”

“You need to try these Pepper Imps… probably not here, better to do it outside...”

“Honestly, though, when I move out of the manor I’d love to live in Hogsmeade…” Michael said.

“Do you?” Draco enquired sully. 

Harry was trying to look happy for his friends, an unconvincing smile plastered on his face. But he felt like he was missing out. They both looked so happy; like they haven’t had this much fun in a while. Harry felt miserable as they went down to the Halloween feast.

They reached the entrance hall and crossed into the Great Hall. 

It had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes. 

The food was delicious; even Draco, who was full to bursting with Honeydukes sweets, managed second helpings of everything. Michael complained that he was already too full, as Harry took another slice of turkey. 

He kept glancing at the staff table. Professor Lupin looked cheerful and as well as he ever did; he was talking animatedly to tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher. 

Harry moved his eyes along the table, to the place where Snape sat. Was he imagining it, or were Snape’s eyes flickering toward Lupin more often than was natural? 

“Next time we need to go see the Shrieking Shack,” Draco told Michael as he ate. “Apparently it’s haunted… I want to see it for myself…”

The two of them noticed that Harry stopped eating, and looked down at their plates. 

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Don’t mean to be so miserable…” 

“It’s okay,” Michael muttered. “What did you do, anyway?”

“Well, I was going to go to the library, then changed my mind. Professor Lupin made me a cup of tea in his office. And then Snape came in…” 

He told them all about the goblet.

Draco jeered, “Professor Lupin must be daft… Why would he drink a potion from someone who really wants his job?”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, he looks alright now…”

“Why would Professor Snape finish Professor Lupin off in front of Harry?” Michael wondered. “It makes no sense.” 

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading. 

It had been such a pleasant evening that Harry’s good mood couldn’t even be spoiled by Pansy, who shouted through the crowd as they all left the hall, “The Dementors send their love, Potter!”

Harry, Draco and Michael made their way down the marble staircase to the Dungeons, heading toward their common room. But when they got there, Professor Snape was knelt beside the door to the Common Room, the rest of the Slytherins gathered around them. 

Harry, Draco and Michael pushed through to get a closer look. There was a Slytherin student, sitting on the floor, trembling and crying. 

“Was’ goin’ on?” Cole De’Claire, Slytherin Prefect, shoved through the crowd. He had a lollipop in his mouth. “‘Fessor Snape, what’s happen’?” 

“Now, now,” Snape was saying to the student. “Why don’t you tell us what happened to you?”

“It- it- it was him… it- it-” but the boy’s words seemed to fail him. 

Harry furrowed his brows. 

“Him who?” Snape enquired. 

The student couldn’t speak. 

“Go get Professor Dumbledore,” Snape said to Cole. 

“Pronto~” Cole sauntered his way through the crowd importantly. 

A moment later, Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping toward Professor Snape and the student. 

He leaned down, silent, and Harry knew that Dumbledore understood without having to say a word. 

“...well?” Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore, who turned, and looked at the pale faced Slytherins. “Mr. De’Claire, can you please escort the Slytherin students to the Great Hall. Sleeping bags shall be issued…” 

Cole nodded, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth. “Come along, now, follow me…” 

Only some had began moving. Others, like Harry, Draco and Michael, waited, intrigued. 

“Well, what is it?” Professor Snape asked. 

“It’s what we all feared would happen, Severus. He made it into the Castle,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Sirius Black.”


	6. Grim Defeat

“The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Professor Dumbledore told the students as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the Great Hall. “I’m afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately,” he added to Percy Weasley, who was looking immensely proud and important. 

“Send word with one of the ghosts.” Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, “Oh, yes, you’ll be needing…” One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags. 

“Sleep well,” said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him. 

Draco looked disgusted, “you expect me to sleep on the floor like some sort of peasant?” 

Harry, Draco and Michael grabbed a sleeping bag each, and made their way into the corner of the hall. 

Crabbe and Goyle came over; they were struggling to fit inside their sleeping bags. 

“Engorgio,” Michael waved his wand toward them, and their sleeping bags expanded to twice their usual size. 

They heard the Gryffindors nearby asking what had happened. Slytherins were keeping rather quiet, separated from the rest of the students. 

Cole strolled in, his arm around the young Slytherin boy who had been on the floor, crying, by the common room. He looked like a first year. 

A Gryffindor boy, second year, ran over to him. “Lucas! Lucas are you alright?” 

“Who is he?” Harry asked. “Why would Sirius Black harass him?” 

“Isn’t it obvious,” Michael raised his eyebrows, “he wanted to know the common room password. Probably tried to find you to finish you off…” 

Harry swallowed. His throat was dry. 

“That’s Lucas Forestone, by the way. And that Gryffindor is his brother, Ciera Forestone,” Michael said. 

“How do you know that?” Draco enquired. 

“Well I just…” Michael began, trailing off. His eyes caught with Jonathan Crowe, who had settled nearby with Evalyn De’Claire. 

“Since when was De’Claire dating the Gryffindor Seeker? Traitor…” Draco muttered. “Can you believe it?” he nudged Michael with his elbow. 

Harry was looking at Michael. He shuffled awkwardly into his sleeping bag, sitting up against the stone wall. Harry remembered how he and Jonathan Crowe would duel regularly, and imagined what Draco would say if he was to find out. 

“Everyone into their sleeping bags!” shouted Percy Weasley, prancing back and forth, his chest puffed out so everyone could see his Head Boy badge. “Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!” 

Draco looked at Harry nervously, “do you think Black is still in the Castle?” 

Harry shrugged. 

“Professor Dumbledore thinks he is,” Michael said quickly. “We’re lucky he picked tonight, though…”

“Why?” Draco asked. 

“The Halloween Feast. We weren’t in our common rooms. He must’ve lost track of time, being on the run and all…” 

All around them, people were asking one another the same question: “How did he get in?” 

“Maybe he knows how to Apparate,” said Draco.

“Just appear out of thin air, you know,” came a Ravenclaw voice from nearby. 

“Disguised himself, probably,” said a Hufflepuff fifth year. 

“He could’ve flown in,” suggested Ron Weasley. 

“Honestly, am I the only person who’s ever bothered to read Hogwarts, A History?” came Hermione’s cross voice from the crowd. 

“Probably,” said Seamus Finnigan, who was close to her. “Why?” 

“Because the castle’s protected by more than walls, you know,” said Hermione. “There are all sorts of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. You can’t just Apparate in here. And I’d like to see the disguise that could fool those Dementors. They’re guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They’d have seen him fly in too. And Filch knows all the secret passages, they’ll have them covered…” 

“Maybe they should’ve put Granger on guard,” Draco snarled, loud enough for her to hear. “Nothing’ll get past her from the high horse she’s sitting on…” 

“Be quiet!” Percy Weasley suddenly shouted. “The lights are going out now! I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!” 

The candles all went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside, was scattered with stars. 

What with that, and the whispering that still filled the hall, Harry felt as though he were sleeping outdoors in a light wind. Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the Hall to check that everything was quiet. 

Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Harry watched him looking around for Percy, who had been prowling between the sleeping bags, telling people off for talking. 

Percy was only a short way away from Harry, Draco, and Michael, who quickly pretended to be asleep as Dumbledore’s footsteps drew nearer, between the intermittent snores coming from Crabbe and Goyle. 

“Any sign of him, Professor?” asked Percy in a whisper. 

“No. All well here?” 

“Everything under control, sir.” 

“Good. We’ve decided on a better password for the Slytherin Common Room, and we’ll make sure to change it regularly. Mr. Forestone has been very anxious. Poor boy, very sensitive, too.” 

“Did he tell you what happened, sir?” Percy Weasley asked curiously. 

“Yes. He told us that Sirius Black came out of nowhere and grabbed him by his shoulders, that he sounded very desperate and deranged. He was demanding to know the password to the Slytherin Common Room. It was a good job that Professor Snape was making his way down the hall at that very moment. Sirius Black must’ve heard him and scampered away.” 

“Poor kid,” Percy was muttering. “Must’ve been frightening.” 

“I could imagine so,” Professor Dumbledore said softly. 

Harry heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps. 

“Headmaster?” It was Snape. 

Harry kept quite still, listening hard. 

“The whole of the third floor has been searched. He’s not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either.” 

“What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney’s room? The Owlery?” 

“All searched…” 

“Very well, Severus. I didn’t really expect Black to linger.” 

“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?” asked Snape. 

Harry raised his head very slightly off his arms to free his other ear. 

“Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next.” 

Harry opened his eyes a fraction and squinted up to where they stood; Dumbledore’s back was to him, but he could see Percy’s face, rapt with attention, and Snape’s profile, which looked angry. 

“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before... ah... the start of term?” said Snape, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy out of the conversation. 

“I do, Severus,” said Dumbledore, and there was something like warning in his voice. 

“It seems... almost impossible... that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed...” 

“I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” said Dumbledore, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed that Snape didn’t reply. 

“I must go down to the Dementors,” said Dumbledore. “I said I would inform them when our search was complete.” 

“Didn’t they want to help, sir?” said Percy. 

“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore coldly. “But I’m afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am Headmaster.” 

Percy looked slightly abashed. Dumbledore left the hall, walking quickly and quietly. 

Snape stood for a moment, watching the headmaster with an expression of deep resentment on his face; then, he too, left. 

Harry glanced sideways at Draco and Michael. Both of them had their eyes open too, reflecting the starry ceiling. 

“What?” Draco mouthed, just as confused as Harry. 

Harry could only manage a shrug. 

* * *

The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who’d listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub. 

Harry talked Michael into not going out and duelling at midnight whilst Black was on the loose, whom disappointingly agreed. 

Draco thought it was funny. “Have you seen Parkinson’s face? She’s been terrified ever since Black tried to get into the Common Room.”

It was true, Pansy Parkinson stayed quiet ever since. She hadn’t even stopped to bully Harry, Draco and Michael in the hallway. 

Cole De’Claire had been instructed to follow Harry around like a security guard, so they were faintly aware of him somewhere behind them, and spoke quietly.

“Potter…” came a cold voice from behind them as they walked. Harry halted, and closed his eyes. It was Snape. What has he done this time?

Harry turned on his heels, as Professor Snape approached him, Draco and Michael. 

“Run along,” he said vacantly at Harry’s friends, who looked at each other, back at Snape, and then Harry.

“See you in the Common Room,” Draco said, and they carried on walking. 

Harry stared. He tried to remember what it is that he could have done to get into trouble, before Snape said, “Follow me…” 

So Harry followed him straight into his office. 

Snape shut the door. There was a rather contemptuous smirk on his face. 

“Sit down.”

Harry sat without saying a word. 

“Now, this might come as a bit of a shock, but Professor Dumbledore instructed me to warn you…” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban to kill you,” Snape said those words like he savoured them. 

Harry blinked, “I already know that…”

“Do you?” Snape raised an eyebrow. 

“Mr. Malfoy told me, Professor,” Harry said. “Sirius Black was Voldemort’s servant.” 

“Is… that… so?” Snape said slowly. It looked like he was thinking, and Harry wished he knew what it was, before turning around and opening the door. He lifted his hand as if to gesture Harry out. 

Harry stood up, and just before he left, Snape said, “I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I were you, Potter. You better watch yourself…” 

Harry looked at him, not saying anything. 

“Oh, and I’ve asked Madam Hooch to supervise your evening Quidditch practice. We wouldn’t want… anything to go wrong… Good day…” 

Harry looked at him, before noticing Cole, who was waiting for Harry in the hallway, tearing  a Liquorice Wand with his teeth and cradling even more sweets in his arm. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Harry said, walking along the corridor to the Common Room. 

“Black’s tryna kill you,” mumbled Cole, caring more about his sweets than Harry. “‘Fessor Snape’s wans me to superwise you…” 

“I don’t need supervision…” Harry muttered under his breath, as they reached the Common Room Door. 

“Meddling Poltergeist.”

The door slid open and they entered the room. Draco and Michael were playing some kind of game with their Chocolate Frog cards whilst Crabbe and Goyle sat there eating sweets. 

* * *

The weather worsened steadily as the first Quidditch match drew nearer. Undaunted, the Slytherin team was training harder than ever under the eye of Madam Hooch.

“The weather is horrible,” Cole complained in the locker room. “How are we supposed to play?”

“Maybe we could ask Professor Snape to swap with Hufflepuff, I can say my arm’s still not healed properly,” Draco said. 

But Cedric wasn’t having it. “No, we’re going to play against Gryffindor. No ifs or ands or buts. A little bit of rain is not going to stop us…”

“A little bit…?” Draco muttered sourly. 

It was dark and gloomy and the persistent sheets of rain and unrelenting winds on the Hogwarts Grounds were no good conditions for Quidditch. 

The day before the match, the winds reached howling point and the rain fell harder than ever. It was so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit.

“Is your arm actually alright though?” Michael asked Draco in Transfiguration. 

“It’s fine,” he whispered, and then said, much louder, “Oh no, it’s still hurting so much…” 

He found the looks that he was getting from Gryffindors funny. 

“Granger… come help me write my essay…” 

“Silence, Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall said, without looking at him. 

Ron snorted. 

Harry was too busy thinking about the match tomorrow. He didn’t care about anything else. 

The weather showed no sign of relenting, neither did Cedric Munroe. He even neglected his Drama Club for this Quidditch match, that’s how badly he wanted to beat Oliver Wood. When he saw Evalyn De’Claire walking down the corridor with Jonathan Crowe, he pushed between them and dragged her away, scolding her loudly. 

“Serves her right, that traitor,” Draco said in a sour tone. “Why would you even associate yourself with Crowe? I heard his family are friends with the Weasleys…” 

After lunch, Cedric grabbed Harry and Draco in the hallway, holding them at each side, and started telling them about how the Hufflepuff team got a new Seeker and Captain, Cedric Diggory. 

“He stole my name! Can you believe it? We cannot let them Hufflepuffs win either… We still have time so make sure you both find out everything you can about Cedric Diggory, that thief, and report back to me… We need to figure out their strengths and weaknesses…” 

He went on for so long that Harry realized they were going to be late to Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

He pulled open the door, and him and Draco made their way in. 

“Sorry we’re late, Professor Lupin. Cedric just-”

But it wasn’t Professor Lupin who looked up at them from the teacher’s desk; it was Snape. 

“This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, Malfoy… So that’s ten points from Slytherin each. Sit down.” 

But Harry didn’t move. Draco looked at him in amazement. He never got into trouble with Professor Snape before. 

“Where’s Professor Lupin?” Harry said. 

“He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,” said Snape with a twisted smile. “I believe I told you to sit down?” 

Draco began walking to his seat next to Michael, but Harry stayed where he was. 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

Snape’s black eyes glittered. 

“Nothing life-threatening,” he said, looking as though he wished it were. “Five more points from Slytherin, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty.” 

Harry walked slowly to his seat and sat down, aware of the evil glares he was getting from the rest of the Slytherins. 

Snape looked around at the class. “As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far...” 

“Please, sir, we’ve done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows,” said Hermione quickly, “and we’re just about to start-” 

“Be quiet,” said Snape coldly. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organization.” 

“He’s the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looked more menacing than ever.

“You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you... I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss...” 

Harry watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn’t covered. 

“...Werewolves,” said Snape. 

All colour drained from Draco’s face. 

“But, sir,” said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to do werewolves yet, we’re due to start Hinkypunks-”

“Miss Granger,” said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, “I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394.” 

He glanced around again. “All of you! Now!” 

With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books. Draco was looking nervous for the first time in one of Snape’s lessons as he flicked through to the right page. 

“Werewolves… why werewolves…” he muttered. 

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” said Snape. 

Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. 

“Anyone?” Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. “Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn’t even taught you the basic distinction between…”

“We told you,” said Parvati suddenly, “we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on...” 

“Silence!” snarled Snape. “Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third-year class who wouldn’t even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…” 

“Please, sir,” said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, “the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf...”

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” said Snape coolly. “Five points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.” 

Draco scoffed loudly, but the rest of the class was as silent as if it were empty. 

Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much most of the class loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, “You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?” 

The class knew instantly he’d gone too far. Snape advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath. 

“Detention, Weasley,” Snape said silkily, his face very close to Ron’s. “And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed.” 

No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. Even Draco didn’t throw his usual insults. They sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin. 

“Very poorly explained… That is incorrect, the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia… Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn’t have given it three…” 

When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back. 

“You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention.” 

Ron looked dismayed. Harry felt bad for him as he, Draco and Michael left the classroom. 

“What’s got into him?” Michael muttered, “he even took points away from Slytherin… Have you ever seen him take points from Slytherin before?” He looked at Draco. 

Draco was very quiet. 

“Snape hasn’t been this bitter about other Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers before, has he?” Harry said. “He’s got it in for Lupin. I want to know why.” 

Ron had stalked past them five minutes later, in a towering rage, catching up with Dean Thomas. 

“D’you know what that...” (he called Snape something that made Dean Thomas gasp) “...is making me do? I’ve got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!” He was breathing deeply, his fists clenched. “Why couldn’t Black have hidden in Snape’s office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!”

Both Harry and Michael were looking expectantly at Draco, and still, he said nothing. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Harry shook his head; it was unusual for him not to make snarky remarks about Ron Weasley when he had the chance. 

“Why’s he making us study Werewolves?” Draco shivered unpleasantly. 

* * *

Harry woke extremely early the next morning; so early that it was still dark. For a moment he thought the roaring of the wind had woken him. Then he felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck and sat bolt upright; Peeves the Poltergeist had been floating next to him, blowing hard in his ear. 

“What did you do that for?” said Harry furiously. 

Peeves puffed out his cheeks, blew hard, and zoomed backward out of the room, cackling. 

Harry fumbled for his alarm clock and looked at it. It was half past four. Cursing Peeves, he rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but it was very difficult, now that he was awake, to ignore the sounds of the thunder rumbling overhead, the splashing of the waves across the lake, and the distant muffled creaking of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. 

In a few hours he would be out on the Quidditch field, battling through that gale. Finally, he gave up any thought of more sleep, got up, dressed, picked up his Nimbus 2001, and walked quietly out of the dormitory. 

As Harry opened the door, something brushed against his leg. He bent down just in time to grab an ugly, ginger cat and yank it up in his arms. 

He realized that it was Hermione Granger’s cat.

“I thought you were Cheshire… how did you get in here?” Harry wondered in amazement. The Gryffindor Common Room was on the other side of the castle. How did Hermione’s cat manage to wander all the way down here. 

Harry decided to let it out into the corridor, shaking his head. It probably snuck in and hid whilst a Slytherin student entered the Common Room. 

It was so dark that even the usual green glow of the lake was absent. If it wasn’t for magic, he was sure that the stormy waves of the lake would have caved in the Castle walls. 

Harry knew better than to think the match would be canceled; Quidditch matches weren’t called off for trifles like thunderstorms. Nevertheless, he was starting to feel very apprehensive. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain, was just as relentless to his team as Cedric was to his. He knew that this would be a heated match, even more so than their previous matches. 

When it came to Harry, he had a big disadvantage in weather like this. He was small and light, and could be easily blown off course. Jonathan Crowe was bigger than Harry, he wasn’t built like the typical seeker, which was a disadvantage to him in their previous matches, but this time, he had the upper-hand. Harry knew he’d have to work twice as hard. 

It must’ve been hours since Harry woke up. At long last Draco came up from the Dormitory, yawning, wearing his Quidditch gear. 

They went down to the Great Hall together. 

Harry revived a bit over a large bowl of porridge, and by the time he’d started on toast, listening to Draco complaining about the weather, the rest of the team had turned up.

Cedric Munroe looked more pumped than ever. The rest of the team, though, were dreading the weather just as much as Draco. 

“Right, everyone. Eat up. You’re going to need it!” Cedric said. 

The Gryffindor team came down soon after, and Cedric and Oliver Wood threw threatening glances at each other. Harry spotted Jonathan Crowe. He had always been a little intimidated by him, and now, more than ever. 

“Concentrate, Evalyn!” Cedric snapped. Harry looked towards her. She was staring dreamily at Crowe. 

“I think she caught the fever…” Cole leaned back against Raphael, waving his fork-full of pancakes in the air. 

“Evalyn, please say it isn’t so!” Cedric gasped. 

“He means she’s fallen in love,” Victoria raised her eyebrow, smirking. 

“Oh, really? We all love a bit of romance. Just make sure you concentrate on the match…”

“Who’d she fall in love with?” Raphael muttered, barely audible. 

“Jonathan Crowe,” Victoria said. 

Cedric stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“That’s not true!” Evalyn suddenly snapped out of her trance. “I mean, not that he’s not… handsome and intelligent and brave… I- I mean… no…” 

“You best not,” Cedric pointed at her. “Do not associate with the enemy… any of you…” 

“Yeah yeah…” Cole waved his hand dismissively, his fork in his mouth. “‘Sure sis’ll fall outta her shtupid lil’ crush by Sunday…” 

The weather was showing no signs of improvement. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went. 

Harry and Draco followed behind their team closely. They saw Michael making his way to the stands, holding a big umbrella, followed by Crabbe and Goyle who were twice his size and looked even more body-guard-like than ever. 

“Good luck,” he smiled at them. 

“We’re going to need it,” Harry muttered. 

Cedric gave a very heartfelt, dramatic prep-talk in the locker room, urging his team to debroom as many Gryffindors as possible as always, coming up to each and every player and straightening their emerald robes. 

The wind was so strong that they staggered sideways as they walked out onto the field. If the crowd was cheering, they couldn’t hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder. Rain was splattering over Harry’s glasses. How on earth was he going to see the Snitch in this? 

The Gryffindors were approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing their scarlet robes. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands; it looked like both Cedric and Oliver Wood would strangle each other but they didn’t, resuming their places. 

Harry saw Madam Hooch’s mouth form the words, “Mount Your brooms.” 

He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it over his Nimbus 2001. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant... they were off. 

Harry rose fast, but his Nimbus was swerving slightly with the wind. He held it as steady as he could and turned, squinting into the rain. 

Within five minutes Harry was soaked to his skin and frozen, hardly able to see his teammates, let alone the tiny Snitch. He flew backward and forward across the field past blurred green and red shapes, with no idea of what was happening in the rest of the game. 

He couldn’t hear the commentary over the wind. The crowd was hidden beneath a sea of cloaks and battered umbrellas. Twice Harry came very close to being unseated by a Bludger; his vision was so clouded by the rain on his glasses he hadn’t seen them coming. 

He lost track of time. It was getting harder and harder to hold his broom straight. The sky was getting darker, as though night had decided to come early. Twice Harry nearly hit another player, without knowing whether it was a teammate or opponent; everyone was now so wet, and the rain so thick, he could hardly tell them apart… 

With the first flash of lightning came the sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle; Harry could just see the outline of Cedric through the thick rain, gesturing him to the ground. 

The whole team splashed down into the mud. 

“Wood called for time-out!” Cedric shouted at his team. “What a coward… knows he’s going to lose!”

The team huddled together under a large, black umbrella. 

“What’s the score?” Cole asked. 

“Fifty to us, zero to Gryffindor. Good job, guys. Draco, good work on saving the Quaffle. Evalyn…” he stared at her. 

“What she done?” Cole looked at her, squinting. 

“She was distracted by the Gryffindor Seeker~” Victoria giggled. 

“It’s not a laughing matter!” Cedric said, very serious. “Concentrate! Harry, get the snitch. Honestly, what’s taking you so long?” 

“I can barely see anything…” Harry took his glasses off and wiped them on his robes. 

“Look, it’s Michael,” Draco pointed. 

Michael was making his way up to them with a hurry, Crabbe and Goyle behind him, holding his umbrella up for him. 

“Get off!” Cedric shouted. “Field invasion!”

“Harry needs help…” Michael said. “Hermione told me a spell…”

“You’re getting advice from Granger?” Draco snapped. 

“Hurry up, then,” Cedric pushed Draco back, eager to accept any and all help they could get. 

Harry gave his glasses to Michael, who took out his wand and muttered, “Impervius!”

They all watched as he handed them back to Harry. “They’ll repel water.” 

“Why would Granger want to help us?” Draco asked sourly. 

“She showed it to me in class,” Michael said. 

Cedric walked up to him and threw his arms around him. Harry could tell it was a painful hug by Michael’s expression. 

“You’re the best, little brother… what would we do without you?” 

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and it was time to resume the game. 

Michael’s spell had done the trick. Harry was still numb with cold, still wetter than he’d ever been in his life, but he could see. Full of fresh determination, he urged his broom through the turbulent air, staring in every direction for the Snitch, avoiding a Bludger, ducking beneath Jonathan Crowe, who was streaking in the opposite direction… There was another clap of thunder, followed immediately by forked lightning. This was getting more and more dangerous. Harry needed to get the Snitch quickly…

He turned, intending to head back toward the middle of the field, but at that moment, another flash of lightning illuminated the stands, and Harry saw something that distracted him completely, the silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky, motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats. 

Harry’s numb hands slipped on the broom handle and his Nimbus dropped a few feet. Shaking his sodden bangs out of his eyes, he squinted back into the stands. The dog had vanished. 

“Harry!” came Draco’s desperate yell from the Slytherin goal posts. “Harry, behind you!” 

Harry looked wildly around. Jonathan Crowe was pelting up the field, and a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between them… With a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broom handle and zoomed toward the Snitch. 

“Come on!” he growled at his Nimbus as the rain whipped his face. “Faster!” 

But something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Harry had gone suddenly deaf... what was going on? 

And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of something moving on the field below… Before he’d had time to think, Harry had taken his eyes off the Snitch and looked down. 

At least a hundred Dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at him, were standing beneath him. It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides. And then he heard it again… 

Someone was screaming, screaming inside his head… 

a woman… 

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” 

“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…” 

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead...” 

Numbing, swirling white mist was filling Harry’s brain… 

What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her… 

She was going to die… 

She was going to be murdered… 

He was falling, falling through the icy mist. 

“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…” 

A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and Harry knew no more. 

* * *

“Is he dead?” 

“Oh god, please not dead…”

“He didn’t even break his glasses… I think he’s fine...” 

Harry could hear the voices whispering, but they made no sense whatsoever. He didn’t have a clue where he was, or how he’d got there, or what he’d been doing before he got there. All he knew was that every inch of him was aching as though it had been beaten. 

“That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

Scariest… the scariest thing… hooded black figures… cold… screaming… 

Harry’s eyes snapped open. He was lying in the hospital wing. The Slytherin Quidditch team, spattered with mud from head to foot, was gathered around his bed. Michael, Crabbe and Goyle were also there, looking as though they’d just climbed out of a swimming pool. 

“Harry, are you okay?” Michael said quickly, placing his small, ice-cold hand on Harry’s forehead. 

It was as though Harry’s memory was on fast forward. 

The lightning… the Grim… the Snitch… and the Dementors…

“I’m fine… What… what happened?” he asked, sitting up suddenly. 

“You fell off,” Cedric said in a very disappointed tone. “And we lost. Crowe caught the snitch… Gryffindor won…” 

Harry’s heart sank into his stomach. He closed his eyes. 

“When Jonathan saw that you passed out he wanted to ask Wood for a rematch… but they’ve won fairly, so…” Michael said. 

“Isn’t Jonathan such a gentleman,” Evalyn squealed. 

“You fell like fifty feet,” Draco said suddenly, “we thought you were dead…” 

“Forget about that,” Cedric said, “you lost us the match, Potter. What are we going to do now?”

“Don’t be so hard on him, Cedric! He almost died!” 

Harry didn’t understand. How did he survive such a fall? 

Michael seemed to have read his mind because he said, “Professor Dumbledore ran into the field, waved his wand and you slowed down right before you hit the ground…” 

“I heard that scream again,” Harry muttered. 

“Was it those dementors?” Draco asked. “Dumbledore was mad that they invaded the Quidditch match like that. Apparently they were really hungry…” 

Harry felt a shiver run up his spine. 

He didn’t care about his near death experience, though. He lost the match, because he was weak. He wasn’t strong enough. Shame overwhelmed him again. And Cedric’s disappointed look didn’t help. 

“We can still win,” Evalyn suddenly piped up, “if Gryffindor loses to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, we can still end up on top…”

“But it’s not the perfect win I wanted!” Cedric snapped. “I wanted it to be clean. I wanted to make sure that we wouldn’t let the other houses score a single point and have Harry catch the snitch every single time!” 

“Come on,” Victoria was now pulling Cedric out of the Hospital Wing. “The last thing Harry needs right now are your temper tantrums…” 

Michael shook his head, “please don’t listen to him, Harry… it’s not your fault.” 

But Harry didn’t feel that way. He couldn’t help but blame himself. 

“That’s right… I almost fell off my broom too when I saw them…” Draco said. 

“Now that I think about it,” Cole announced, “this was the first time we even lost a match with Harry on the team… Cedric should cut him some slack…” 

Michael nodded. 

“You’re the best seeker Slytherin team had in many decades… and you only lost because of an interference…” 

“That’s right. We’re still going to win…” Cole shrugged. “I ain’t worried.” 

“Do you want to tell him?” Michael was whispering to Draco. 

“No, you…” Draco said. “You know I’m not very sensitive…”

“You’re calling me sensitive?” 

“No, but… kind of...”

“Tell me what?” Harry said. 

Both Michael and Draco looked apologetically at him. 

“Well… when you fell… your broom… it sort of went flying off with the wind…” Michael averted his eyes. 

Harry blinked. 

Michael looked at Draco. 

Draco sighed, “your nimbus went flying into the Whomping Willow…” 

“And...?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows, but a part of him didn’t want to know what his friends were about to say. 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Michael said quietly. 

Draco reached down, grabbing a bag and putting it onto Harry’s lap. “That’s probably all of it…” 

Harry looked into the bag. His heart sank even lower. His beautiful Nimbus 2001… was in a dozen different pieces. It had been smashed so badly that there was no way of fixing it, even with magic. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. 

“What for?” Draco said. 

“It was a gift from your father…”

“Don’t worry about that,” Draco said casually, “father’ll buy you a new one. I’ll send him an owl.” 

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it… I still have my Nimbus Two Thousand… I’ll be fine…” 

But he felt distraught. He’d be the only one on the Slytherin team with an older model. He had gotten used to the speed and maneuverability of the Nimbus 2001. 

After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace. 

“We’ll come visit you later,” Draco said. 

“Make sure to get enough rest and don’t wander off-” but Draco was already pulling Michael away. 

“God, I’m starving…” his voice faded down the corridor. 

Harry lay there, staring at the ceiling. Today was one of the worst days he had at Hogwarts. Everything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong. He lost the match, fainted again like a weakling and now his Nimbus 2001 was smashed into pieces. 


	7. The Marauder’s Map

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend. He didn’t argue or complain, but he wouldn’t let her throw away the shattered remnants of his Nimbus 2001. He knew he was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but Harry couldn’t help it; he felt as though he’d lost one of his best friends. 

He had a stream of visitors, all intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, even Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit. Ron, Fred and George Weasley came too, which came as a shock to Harry. He was sure that the twins didn’t like him very much. 

“Get well soon, Harry,” one of them said, Harry didn’t know which. 

“Yeah, we’re going to need some good competition for next year too…” 

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry looked at Ron. 

Ron shrugged, “I don’t care where she is… her cat ate Scabbers, did you hear?”

“Why would you blame her for what her cat did?” Harry furrowed his brows. 

“Because she refuses to admit that she was wrong! Why would anyone want to defend that beast?” 

One of the Weasley twins gave a laugh, “relax, there’s no evidence of that cat eating that old mop of a rat, Ron. I bet he ran off somewhere to die in peace without you moping over it every second of every day.”

Harry shrugged. “I saw Hermione’s cat in the Slytherin Common Room the other day. I don’t know how it managed to find its way in…”

“That cat is mental… keep an eye for Scabbers, will you? I really hope he’s still out there somewhere…” Ron looked like thinking of Scabbers was too painful, so they found something else to talk about instead.

The Slytherin team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Cedric, who told Harry (in a hollow, dead sort of voice) that he didn’t blame him for the loss. Harry figured he was put up to it by the rest of the team, and didn’t really mean it. 

Michael left Harry’s bedside only at night, and would check up on him through his Three Way Journal. Draco would bring him sweets and try to cheer him up with funny stories from the Daily Prophet. But nothing anyone said or did could make Harry feel any better, because they knew only half of what was troubling him. 

He hadn’t told anyone about the Grim, not even Draco and Michael, because he knew Michael would probably start crying as if he was already dead, and Draco would freak out and say that what he saw was a Werewolf. 

The fact remained, however, that it had now appeared twice, and both appearances had been followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, he had nearly been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen fifty feet from his broomstick. Was the Grim going to haunt him until he actually died? Was he going to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the beast? 

And then there were the Dementors. Harry felt sick and humiliated every time he thought of them. Everyone said the Dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every time they went near one. No one else heard echoes in their head of their dying parents. 

Because Harry knew who that screaming voice belonged to now. He had heard her words, heard them over and over again during the night hours in the hospital wing while he lay awake, staring at the strips of moonlight on the ceiling. 

When the Dementors approached him, he heard the last moments of his mother’s life, her attempts to protect him, Harry, from Lord Voldemort, and Voldemort’s laughter before he murdered her… Harry dozed fitfully, sinking into dreams full of clammy, rotted hands and petrified pleading, jerking awake to dwell again on his mother’s voice. 

* * *

It was a relief to return to the noise and bustle of the main school on Monday, where he was forced to think about other things, even if half of the Slytherins were glaring at him vindictively. 

Pansy Parkinson went back to her usual taunting. She spent most of her free time stalking Harry, imitating a Dementor and laughing her head off with her little gang. 

“Don’t let her get to you,” Michael reassured him. But Harry couldn’t help but feel stupid. 

“Yeah, I want to see Parkinson try flying a broomstick in weather like that with about a hundred Dementors below her…” Draco said loudly so that she could hear. 

Draco’s new hobby in Potions was teasing Hermione, who had no choice but to sit on the same table as them now because Professor Snape issued out seating plans. 

Harry, Draco and Michael sat together, but Hermione and Ron were separated on either ends of the classroom, even though they seemed to have finally made up. 

“Favouritism at it’s finest…” Ron said to Dean Thomas. 

“Hey, Granger…” Draco smirked, “my arm kind of hurts… can you help me set up my cauldron…” 

Harry was shaking his head, trying to concentrate on his textbook. 

“I’ll have you know, I’m not your servant. Besides, you were doing just fine on the Quidditch field!” Hermione whispered. 

“Professor!” Draco raised his hand. “Granger is refusing to help out a fellow classmate…” 

“That’s ten points from Gryffindor, Granger…”

Hermione looked abashed. “But… you didn’t let me help Neville-” 

“Silence!” 

Draco scoffed loudly. Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at him across the classroom, which hit him in the face. 

“Ow, stupid Weasle… Professor, did you see that?” 

Snape rose from his seat, and approached Ron’s table. Ron swallowed nervously. 

“Why do I find that most problems stem from you and Granger… I see separating you did no good. That’s fifty points from Gryffindor.”

“Fifty?” Ron went pale. 

Draco was smirking at him. Whatever points they won from winning their match were gone. 

“Professor… it was all Malfoy’s fault… he’s provoking-”

“Do you want to lose your house another fifty points, Miss Granger?” Snape raised an eyebrow. 

She went quiet and turned back around. Harry and Michael looked at her. 

“What?” she whispered. “Can’t believe you two just sit here and enable him…” 

“Rude…” Draco commented. “All I asked is for some help… it’s your stupid boyfriend who started it.”

  
  


“Do you think Professor Snape is teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts again?” Michael asked as they made their way to their next lesson. 

“I bloody hope not!” Ron said loudly, walking past them. “Where’s Hermione?” 

Harry glanced over at Ron, and then looked towards the staircase. Hermione was rushing in the opposite direction. 

“Where is she going?” Draco enquired. 

When they reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they saw Hermione peeking through the door. 

“There you are!” Ron gasped. 

Draco looked behind him. “What the hell… did you see that?” 

“It’s okay, it’s Professor Lupin. He’s back!” Hermione looked very pleased. 

“I think I’m going mad…” Draco said. 

“You’re not…” Harry muttered. “Something’s not right here…” 

Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape’s behavior while Lupin had been ill. 

“It’s not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?” 

“We don’t know anything about werewolves...” 

“...two rolls of parchment!” 

“Did you tell Professor Snape we haven’t covered them yet?” Lupin asked, frowning slightly. 

The babble broke out again. 

“Yes, but he said we were really behind...” 

“...he wouldn’t listen...” 

“...he even took points from Slytherin!” 

“...two rolls of parchment!” 

Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll speak to Professor Snape. You don’t have to do the essay.” 

“Oh no,” said Hermione, looking very disappointed. “I’ve already finished it!” 

“Thank god,” Harry whispered, shaking his head. He didn’t know how Hermione found the time to do it with her schedule.

“Thank god?” Draco shook his head with disappointment. 

“Don’t tell me you did it too…” Harry whispered. 

Draco replied with an irritable huff, and remained silent. 

They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a Hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless looking. 

“Lures travelers into bogs,” said Professor Lupin as they took notes. “You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead... people follow the light... then...” 

The Hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass. When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but…

“Wait a moment, Harry,” Lupin called. “I’d like a word.” 

Harry doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the Hinkypunk’s box with a cloth. 

“I heard about the match,” said Lupin, turning back to his desk and starting to pile books into his briefcase, “and I’m sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?” 

“No,” said Harry. “The tree smashed it to bits.” 

Lupin sighed. 

“They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance.”

“Did you hear about the Dementors too?” said Harry with difficulty. 

Lupin looked at him quickly. 

“Yes, I did. I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time… furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds… I suppose they were the reason you fell?” 

“Yes,” said Harry. He hesitated, and then the question he had to ask burst from him before he could stop himself. “Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just...?” 

“It has nothing to do with weakness,” said Professor Lupin sharply, as though he had read Harry’s mind. “The Dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don’t have.” 

A ray of wintry sunlight fell across the classroom, illuminating Lupin’s gray hairs and the lines on his young face. 

“Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can’t see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself… soul-less and evil. You’ll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And the worst that happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.” 

“When they get near me...” Harry stared at Lupin’s desk, his throat tight. “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.” 

Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry’s shoulder, but thought better of it. There was a moment’s silence, then…

“Why did they have to come to the match?” said Harry bitterly. 

“They’re getting hungry,” said Lupin coolly, shutting his briefcase with a snap. “Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up… I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement… emotions running high… it was their idea of a feast.” 

“Azkaban must be terrible,” Harry muttered. 

Lupin nodded grimly. 

“The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they’re all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheery thought. Most of them go mad within weeks.” 

“But Sirius Black escaped from them,” Harry said slowly. “He got away…” 

Lupin’s briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it. 

“Yes,” he said, straightening up, “Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn’t have believed it possible… Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long…” 

“You made that Dementor on the train back off,” said Harry suddenly.

“There are... certain defenses one can use,” said Lupin. “But there was only one Dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist.” 

“What defenses?” said Harry at once. “Can you teach me?” 

“I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting Dementors, Harry... quite the contrary…” 

“But if the Dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them.” 

Lupin looked into Harry’s determined face, hesitated, then said, “Well… all right. I’ll try and help. But it’ll have to wait until next term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill.” 

What with the promise of anti-Dementor lessons from Lupin, the thought that he might never have to hear his mother’s death again, and the fact that Ravenclaw flattened Gryffindor in their Quidditch match at the end of November, Harry’s mood took a definite upturn. 

Slytherins were not out of the running after all, although they could not afford to lose another match. 

Cedric became repossessed of his manic energy, and worked his team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted into December. 

Harry saw no hint of a Dementor within the grounds. Dumbledore’s anger seemed to be keeping them at their stations at the entrances. 

Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Both Draco and Michael had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Michael didn’t want to spend Christmas with Cedric, and Draco said his parents were going to Russia, Harry knew that they were also doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful. 

To everyone’s delight except Harry’s, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term. 

Resigned to the fact that he would be the only third year staying behind again, Harry borrowed a copy of Which Broomstick from Cole, and decided to spend the day reading up on the different makes. 

He had been riding his Nimbus 2000 at practice, which seemed to have gotten a little rusty after not getting any action for months, and he ended up being the slowest on the team; he really wanted a new broom. 

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid good-bye to Draco, Michael, Crabbe and Goyle, who were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, then turned up the marble staircase alone, and headed toward the library. 

Snow had started to fall outside the windows, and the castle was very still and quiet. 

“Psst... Potter!” 

He turned, halfway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George Weasley peering out at him from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch. 

“What are you doing?” said Harry curiously. “How come you’re not going to Hogsmeade?” 

“We’ve come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go,” said Fred, with a mysterious wink. “Come in here…” 

Harry was confused. He approached them cautiously, praying that they weren’t about to play one of their practical jokes on him. 

Fred nodded toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue. Harry followed Fred and George inside. 

George closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry. 

“Early Christmas present for you, Harry,” he said. 

Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. 

Harry, suspecting one of Fred and George’s jokes, stared at it. 

“We were thinking of how to repay you for saving our sister last year…”

“If it weren’t for you, she’d be dead…” 

“And we heard that you can’t go to Hogsmeade which is honestly tragic…”

“So we thought you were the perfect person to inherit it, you know, just in case our sister needs saving again…”

“Yeah… we don’t really need it anymore anyway, we memorised everything by heart.”

“What are you two talking about?” Harry asked. “What’s that supposed to be?” 

“This, Harry, is the secret of our success,” said George, patting the parchment fondly.

“And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?” said Harry. 

“A bit of old parchment!” said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. “Explain, George.” 

“Well… when we were in our first year... young, carefree, and innocent...” 

Harry snorted. He doubted whether Fred and George had ever been innocent. 

“...well, more innocent than we are now... we got into a spot of bother with Filch.” 

“We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason...” 

“So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual...” 

“Detention...” 

“Disembowelment...” 

“And we couldn’t help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.” 

“Don’t tell me...” said Harry, starting to grin. 

“Well, what would you’ve done?” said Fred. “George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed... this.” 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, you know,” said George. “We don’t reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn’t have confiscated it.” 

“And you know how to work it?” 

“Oh yes,” said Fred, smirking. “This little beauty’s taught us more than all the teachers in this school.” 

“You’re winding me up,” said Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment. Why would the Weasley twins give something so important to Harry out of all people?

“Oh, are we?” said George. He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” 

And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from the point that George’s wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed: “Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present: THE MARAUDER’S MAP” 

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. 

Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker’s cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Harry’s eyes traveled up and down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else. 

This map showed a set of passages he had never entered. And many of them seemed to lead... “Right into Hogsmeade,” said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. “There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four,” he pointed them out, “but we’re sure we’re the only ones who know about these. Don’t bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it’s caved in... completely blocked. And we don’t reckon anyone’s ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow’s planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We’ve used it loads of times. And as you might’ve noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone’s hump.” 

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” sighed George, patting the heading of the map. “We owe them so much.” 

“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers,” said Fred solemnly.

“Right,” said George briskly. “Don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it...” 

“...or anyone can read it,” Fred said warningly. “Just tap it again and say, ‘Mischief managed!’ And it’ll go blank.” 

“I- I can’t possibly accept-” Harry began. 

“Shh, Harry. Not another word.”

“We’re even, now.”

“Now we can finally sleep at night,” George let out a sigh. 

“So, Potter,” said Fred finally, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy Weasley, “mind you behave yourself.” 

“See you in Honeydukes,” said George, winking. 

Before Harry could say anything else to protest, they left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way. 

Harry stood there, gazing at the miraculous map. He watched the tiny ink Mrs. Norris turn left and pause to sniff at something on the floor. 

If Filch really didn’t know… he wouldn’t have to pass the Dementors at all… 

But even as he stood there, flooded with excitement, something Harry had once heard Mr. Weasley say came floating out of his memory. 

“Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.”

He still couldn’t fathom why the Weasley Twins would intrust something like this to Harry, they barely even knew him. Doubt seeped into his mind. What if this was an elaborate plan to get Harry into trouble? No, it can’t be that. They wouldn’t risk a teacher finding out about an item like this. Would they give something like this away to someone just for a joke?

Harry traced the secret passage to Honeydukes with his finger. Then, quite suddenly, as though following orders, he rolled up the map, stuffed it inside his robes, and hurried to the door of the classroom. 

He opened it a couple of inches. There was no one outside. Very carefully, he edged out of the room and behind the statue of the one-eyed witch. 

What did he have to do? He pulled out the map again and saw to his astonishment, that a new ink figure had appeared upon it, labeled “Harry Potter”. This figure was standing exactly where the real Harry was standing, about halfway down the third-floor corridor. 

Harry watched carefully. His little Ink self appeared to be tapping the witch with his minute wand. Harry quickly took out his real wand and tapped the statue. Nothing happened. 

He looked back at the map. The tiniest speech bubble had appeared next to his figure. The word inside said, “Dissendium.”

“Dissendium!” Harry whispered, tapping the stone witch again. 

At once, the statue’s hump opened wide enough to admit a fairly thin person. 

Harry glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then tucked the map away again, hoisted himself into the hole headfirst, and pushed himself forward. He slid a considerable way down what felt like a stone slide, then landed on cold, damp earth. He stood up, looking around. It was pitch dark. He held up his wand, muttered, “Lumos!” and saw that he was in a very narrow, low, earthy passageway. 

He raised the map, tapped it with the tip of his wand, and muttered, “Mischief managed!” The map went blank at once. 

He folded it carefully, tucked it inside his robes, then, heart beating fast, both excited and apprehensive, he set off. The passage twisted and turned, more like the burrow of a giant rabbit than anything else. Harry hurried along it, stumbling now and then on the uneven floor, holding his wand out in front of him. 

It took ages, but Harry had the thought of Honeydukes to sustain him. After what felt like an hour, the passage began to rise. Panting, Harry sped up, his face hot, his feet very cold. 

Ten minutes later, he came to the foot of some worn stone steps, which rose out of sight above him. Careful not to make any noise, Harry began to climb. 

A hundred steps, two hundred steps, he lost count as he climbed, watching his feet… then, without warning, his head hit something hard. It seemed to be a trapdoor. 

Harry stood there, massaging the top of his head, listening. He couldn’t hear any sounds above him. Very slowly, he pushed the trapdoor open and peered over the edge. 

He was in a cellar, which was full of wooden crates and boxes. Harry climbed out of the trapdoor and replaced it; it blended so perfectly with the dusty floor that it was impossible to tell it was there. 

Harry crept slowly toward the wooden staircase that led upstairs. Now he could definitely hear voices, not to mention the tinkle of a bell and the opening and shutting of a door. Wondering what he ought to do, he suddenly heard a door open much closer at hand; somebody was about to come downstairs. 

“And get another box of Jelly Slugs, dear, they’ve nearly cleaned us out...” said a woman’s voice. 

A pair of feet was coming down the staircase. Harry leapt behind an enormous crate and waited for the footsteps to pass. He heard the man shifting boxes against the opposite wall. He might not get another chance... 

Quickly and silently, Harry dodged out from his hiding place and climbed the stairs; looking back, he saw an enormous backside and shiny bald head, buried in a box. Harry reached the door at the top of the stairs, slipped through it, and found himself behind the counter of Honeydukes. 

He ducked, crept sideways, and then straightened up. Honeydukes was so crowded with Hogwarts students that no one looked twice at Harry. He edged among them, looking around, and suppressed a laugh as he imagined the look that would spread over Dudley’s piggy face if he could see where Harry was now. 

There were shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable.

“Move over,” Cole De’Claire pushed past him, not even looking to see who it was. He was carrying so many sweets in his arms that some of them were falling out. 

Harry squeezed himself through a crowd of sixth years and saw Draco and Michael in the corner of the shop. Crabbe and Goyle were nearby, stuffing their faces with Cauldron Cakes, whilst Draco picked up random sweets and examined them.

Michael was holding a box of Glacial Snow Flakes, examining a tray of sweets under an “UNUSUAL TASTES” sign. 

“Do you think Harry would like these?”

“They look gross…” Draco curled his nose in disgust. 

“You should leave some room in your belly for butterbeer,” Michael commented to Crabbe and Goyle, who paused in their gluttony. 

“They never run out of room,” Draco stated. 

Harry beamed, deciding to surprise them, and ducked behind a few Hufflepuff students as they approached the Chocolate Frog stand. 

“Would Harry like these?” Michael picked up a jar of Cockroach Clusters. 

“Definitely not,” said Harry. 

Michael dropped the jar, startled. 

It smashed on the floor. 

“Harry!” He gasped. 

Draco turned around, his eyes wide. “How did you…” he looked at the floor. 

Michael didn’t even seem to notice. “Harry… what are you doing here?”

Harry was beaming ear to ear. 

Even Crabbe and Goyle stopped stuffing their faces to take a look. 

“Did you learn to Apparate?” Draco asked. 

“No,” Harry said. He dropped his voice so that even Crabbe and Goyle couldn’t hear him, and told them about the Marauder’s Map. 

“The Weasleys gave you a map?” Draco said, looking like he had just swallowed one of those Cockroaches. 

“Yeah… they wanted to thank me for saving their sister last year.”

“And you believed them? What if it’s cursed? What if it’s Dark Magic?” Michael said quickly.

“Relax,” Harry said, “I trust them. Why would they give something so valuable away just for a prank.” 

“Whatever,” Draco said, “at least you can come to Hogsmeade now…”

“Draco,” Michael whispered, “Harry can’t be coming here with Sirius Black on the loose… what if the teachers find out?”

“Don’t be such a wuss…” Draco drawled, “let’s go get butterbeer…”

When Draco had paid for all their sweets, the five of them left Honeydukes for the blizzard outside. Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees. 

Harry shivered; unlike the others, he didn’t have his cloak. They headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Draco shouting through his scarf. 

“Do you think Black could’ve went through one of the passages on the map?”

“Can’t be,” Harry yelled, “Nobody else knows about them. Not even Filch!” 

“How do you know that?” Michael’s voice came from Harry’s left. He was struggling to keep up; the wind kept blowing him back. 

“Ha ha,” Draco pointed at him as he lagged behind. 

“It’s not funny…” Michael whined. 

They ploughed their way through the thick walls of snow. Harry wished he’d remembered his cloak. 

“Three Broomsticks,” Draco pointed to a tiny inn. 

Harry was more than grateful once they stepped into the warm, smokey tavern. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

“Go get the drinks,” Draco said to Crabbe and Goyle. “Three Butterbeers, and whatever it is that you two want,” he handed them some gold. 

The three of them made their way to the back of the room, where there was a medium-sized, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. 

Crabbe and Goyle came back five minutes later, carrying foaming tankards of hot butterbeer. 

“Thanks,” Harry took his, as they handed them out. 

Draco leaned back like he owned the place, sipping his Butterbeer. He hadn’t realized that it left a foamy mustache above his lip, which left Michael and Harry snickering. 

“What’re you laughing at?” Draco enquired. 

“Nothing,” Harry said, trying to wipe his grin off his face. 

Draco glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, who looked away quickly. 

Just then, Ron and Hermione walked past their table. 

Ron saw Draco and snorted. 

“What’s so funny, Weasley?” 

Ron paused, narrowing his eyes. 

“Harry? You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” 

“Turn around, Weasley, it’s none of your business…” Draco snarled.

Hermione looked at Draco, crossing her arms, “no need to be so rude, Malfoy. You have something on your face, by the way…” she gestured to her upper lip, raising an eyebrow. 

Draco turned pink and quickly wiped the foam off with a napkin. 

Ron scowled, “why did you tell him?” 

And the two of them walked away. 

“Stupid Granger… and Weasley… Hope they get blown away with all the snow…” 

Harry looked at his Butterbeer. It was still warm. He took a sip. It was even better than when Draco and Michael brought some back for him; it had gone cold and wasn't as frothy. 

He could truly appreciate it now that it had warmed his insides.

A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. 

Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked. 

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak; Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. 

In an instant, Draco placed his hand on the top of Harry’s head and forced him off his stool and under the table. 

Dripping with butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Harry clutched his empty tankard and watched the teachers’ and Fudge’s feet move toward the bar, pause, then turn and walk right toward him. 

“Crabbe… Goyle…” Draco hissed. 

The two of them shuffled over so that they were sitting and blocking Harry from view. 

Harry couldn’t see anything of what was going on behind their cloaks. 

He heard the grunts and sighs of the teachers and minister, and figured that they must’ve sat down. 

Next, he heard a woman’s voice, “a small gillywater...” 

“Mine,” said Professor McGonagall’s voice. 

“Four pints of mulled mead...” 

“Ta, Rosmerta,” said Hagrid. 

“A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella...” 

“Mmm!” said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips. 

“So you’ll be the red currant rum, Minister.” 

“Thank you, Rosmerta, m’dear,” said Fudge’s voice. “Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won’t you? Come and join us…” 

“Well, thank you very much, Minister.” 

Harry heard heels march away and back again. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his throat. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that this was the last weekend of term for the teachers too? And how long were they going to sit there? He needed time to sneak back into Honeydukes if he wanted to return to school tonight… 

“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?” came Madam Rosmerta’s voice. 

Fudge said in a quieter voice, “What else, m’dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?” 

“I did hear a rumor,” admitted Madam Rosmerta.

“Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?” said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly. 

“Do you think Black’s still in the area, Minister?” whispered Madam Rosmerta. 

“I’m sure of it,” said Fudge shortly. 

“You know that the Dementors have searched the whole village twice?” said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice. “Scared all my customers away… It’s very bad for business, Minister.” 

“Rosmerta, dear, I don’t like them any more than you do,” said Fudge uncomfortably. “Necessary precaution… unfortunate, but there you are… I’ve just met some of them. They’re in a fury against Dumbledore... he won’t let them inside the castle grounds.” 

“I should think not,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?” 

“Hear, hear!” squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick. 

“All the same,” demurred Fudge, “they are here to protect you all from something much worse… We all know what Black’s capable of…” 

“Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,” said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. “Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought… I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you’d told me then what he was going to become, I’d have said you’d had too much mead.” 

“You don’t know the half of it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge gruffly. “The worst he did isn’t widely known.” 

“The worst?” said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. “Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?” 

“I certainly do,” said Fudge. 

“I can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?” 

“You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,” murmured Professor McGonagall. “Do you remember who his best friend was?” 

“Naturally,” said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here... ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!” 

Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Draco kicked him. 

“Precisely,” said Professor McGonagall. “Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course... exceptionally bright, in fact... but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair of troublemakers...” 

“I dunno,” chuckled Hagrid. “Fred and George Weasley could give ‘em a run fer their money.” 

“You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers!” chimed in Professor Flitwick. “Inseparable!” 

“Of course they were,” said Fudge. “Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him.” 

“Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?” whispered Madam Rosmerta. 

“Worse even than that, m’dear…” Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. “Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn’t an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm.” 

“How does that work?” said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest. 

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. “An immensely complex spell,” he said squeakily, “involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find... unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. 

“As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!” 

“So Black was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper?” whispered Madam Rosmerta. 

“Naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper himself.” 

“He suspected Black?” gasped Madam Rosmerta. 

“He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements,” said Professor McGonagall darkly. “Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who.” 

“But James Potter insisted on using Black?” 

“He did,” said Fudge heavily. “And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed...” 

“Black betrayed them?” breathed Madam Rosmerta. 

“He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters’ death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it.” 

“Filthy, stinkin’ turncoat!” Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet. 

“Shh!” said Professor McGonagall. 

“I met him!” growled Hagrid. “I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an’ James’s house after they was killed! Jus’ got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an’ his parents dead… an’ Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin’ motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin’ there. I didn’ know he’d bin Lily an’ James’s Secret-Keeper. Thought he’d jus’ heard the news o’ You-Know-Who’s attack an’ come ter see what he could do. White an’ shakin’, he was. An’ yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN’ TRAITOR!” Hagrid roared. 

“Hagrid, please!” said Professor McGonagall. “Keep your voice down!” 

“How was I ter know he wasn’ upset abou’ Lily an’ James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou’! An’ then he says, “Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I’m his godfather, I’ll look after him…” Ha! But I’d had me orders from Dumbledore, an’ I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an’ uncle’s. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. “I won’t need it anymore,” he says. 

“I shoulda known there was somethin’ fishy goin’ on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin’ it ter me for? Why wouldn’ he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he’d bin the Potters’ Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin’ ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o’ hours before the Ministry was after him. 

“But what if I’d given Harry to him, eh? I bet he’d’ve pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes’ friends’ son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there’s nothin’ and no one that matters to em anymore…” 

A long silence followed Hagrid’s story. 

Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, “But he didn’t manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!” 

“Alas, if only we had,” said Fudge bitterly. “It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew... another of the Potters’ friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters’ Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself.” 

“Pettigrew… that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?” said Madam Rosmerta. 

“Hero... worshipped Black and Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. “Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I... how I regret that now…” She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

“There, now, Minerva,” said Fudge kindly, “Pettigrew died a hero’s death. Eyewitnesses... Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later; told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, “Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?” And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens…”

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, “Stupid boy… foolish boy… he was always hopeless at dueling… should have left it to the Ministry…” 

“I tell yeh, if I’d got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn’t’ve messed around with wands... I’d ‘ve ripped him limb... from... limb,” Hagrid growled. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hagrid,” said Fudge sharply. “Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I... I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him… a heap of bloodstained robes and a few... a few fragments...” 

Fudge’s voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown. 

“Well, there you have it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge thickly. “Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since.” 

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. “Is it true he’s mad, Minister?” 

“I wish I could say that he was,” said Fudge slowly. “I certainly believe his master’s defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man... cruel… pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there’s no sense in them… but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You’d have thought he was merely bored... asked if I’d finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him... and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night.” 

“But what do you think he’s broken out to do?” said Madam Rosmerta. “Good gracious, Minister, he isn’t trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?” 

“I daresay that is his... er... eventual plan,” said Fudge evasively. “But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing… but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he’ll rise again…” 

There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass. 

“You know, Cornelius, if you’re dining with the headmaster, we’d better head back up to the castle,” said Professor McGonagall. 

One by one, Harry could hear footsteps draw further away, Madam Rosmerta’s heels heading towards the bar. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had left. 

“Harry?” Michael’s face appeared under the table, followed by Draco’s. There were both staring at him, lost for words. 


	8. The Firebolt

Harry didn’t have a very clear idea of how he had managed to get back into the Honeydukes cellar, through the tunnel, and into the castle once more. All he knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that he hardly noticed what he was doing, because his head was still pounding with the conversation he had just heard. 

Why had nobody ever told him? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr. Malfoy, Cornelius Fudge… why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned the fact that Harry’s parents had died because their best friend had betrayed them? Was that what Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy spoke about that evening he’d eavesdropped on them?

Draco and Michael both ate their dinner in complete silence, not daring to mention what they’d overheard. Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have lost their appetites. 

Cole was sitting next to Harry, his plate filled with sweets, chatting about the new Honeydukes releases, so they didn’t think it was a good idea to talk about it in the open. 

On the way out of the Great Hall, Fred and George Weasley caught up with Harry, shoving Draco out of their way. “Did you go?”

“Tell us everything…”

“Get lost, Weasleys…” Draco scowled. 

“How very rude,” George remarked. 

“Have some respect for your elders…” 

Harry snorted.

At that moment, Crabbe and Goyle advanced on the Weasley twins.

Fred whipped out his wand and did a little spell which gave both of them a wedgie. 

Harry bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, as Crabbe and Goyle’s faces contorted with discomfort. 

Just like that, the Weasley twins were gone, the ghost of their laughter echoing down the hall. 

“What’s their problem?” Draco huffed, no regard to his two body-guards, as he made his way through the door towards the Dungeons, followed by Harry, Michael, and Crabbe and Goyle who were still tugging on their pants. 

When they got back to the Common Room, Harry went straight to his Dormitory. He pushed his books aside in his cabinet and quickly found what he was looking for; the leather-bound photo album Hagrid had given him two years ago, which was full of wizard pictures of his mother and father. 

He sat down on his bed, drew the hangings around him, and started turning the pages, searching, until…

He stopped on a picture of his parents’ wedding day. There was his father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was his mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there… that must be him. Their best man… Harry had never given him a thought before. 

If he hadn’t known it was the same person, he would never have guessed it was Black in this old photograph. His face wasn’t sunken and waxy, but handsome, full of laughter. Had he already been working for Voldemort when this picture had been taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the two people next to him? Did he realize he was facing twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would make him unrecognizable? 

But the Dementors don’t affect him, Harry thought, staring into the handsome, laughing face. ‘He doesn’t have to hear my Mum screaming if they get too close…’ 

Harry slammed the album shut, reached over and stuffed it back into his cabinet, took off his robe and glasses and got into bed, making sure the hangings were hiding him from view. The dormitory door opened. 

“Harry?” said Michael’s voice uncertainly. 

But Harry lay still, pretending to be asleep. He heard Michael leave again, and rolled over on his back, his eyes wide open. A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces. He could hear (though having no idea what Black’s voice might sound like) a low, excited mutter. “It has happened, My Lord… the Potters have made me their Secret-Keeper” and then came another voice, laughing shrilly, the same laugh that Harry heard inside his head whenever the Dementors drew near… 

Harry hadn’t gotten to sleep until daybreak. He had awoken to find the dormitory deserted, dressed, and gone up the marble steps towards the Slytherin Common Room. 

“You look like you’ve wasted more energy sleeping than in our last Quidditch Match,” Draco remarked as he walked in. He hadn’t realized his hair was sticking up in weird directions; he had given up trying to tame it over the years. 

Michael had several books sprawled along the table; he and Draco were doing their homework. Crabbe and Goyle were tucking into their Peppermint Toads on the couch, but apart from everyone mentioned, the room was empty. 

“It’s nice to have the whole Common Room to ourselves, isn’t it?” Draco said, “Parkinson and her stupid little friends have all gone home. Hope something happens to them and they never come back…” 

Harry paused. That’s right, it was the first day of the Christmas holidays. He gave a small nod and sat down at the table. 

Michael couldn’t seem to concentrate with Harry in the room, though. He kept glancing up nervously at him, as if he would hurl himself into the fireplace at any moment. 

“Harry… I hope you’re not getting any ideas…” Michael said suddenly. “You can’t go after Black, you’re no match for him if he can get past the-”

“D’you know what I see and hear every time a Dementor gets too near me?” Harry interrupted abruptly. Michael shook his head, looking apprehensive. Draco looked up from his parchment at him. Even Crabbe and Goyle were distracted from their sweets. 

“I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort. And if you’d heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her-”

“I don’t have a mother,” Michael said. “I- I know how you feel, Harry. The dementors brought up so many things from the past that I wish I could forget… but that’s no reason for me to go and risk my life for the sake of revenge…” 

Both Harry and Draco stared at him. 

“You never told us how your mother died,” Draco said suddenly. 

“I don’t remember how, but father said that it was all for the best. That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named killed her because she decided to go against him. I understand how you feel, Harry. But you can’t go after Black.”

Harry looked away, “how come you never passed out then…” 

“I… I don’t know… it felt like I would...” 

“Well, thanks for not telling me and making me feel like a freak…” Harry grumbled. 

“Sorry… I just-”

“Can’t we talk about something else?” Draco said, “I don’t want to think about Dementors, and Black’s going to be taken to Azkaban sooner or later…” 

Crabbe and Goyle nodded mindlessly. 

“But Black had already escaped Azkaban, the Dementors have no effect on him! It’s not a good enough punishment for what he has done.”

“And I’m sure getting the chance to kill you would just make him even happier, Harry. Your death is not what your mother and father would have wanted.” 

“I’ll never know what they’d have wanted, because thanks to Black, I’ve never spoken to them,” said Harry shortly. 

There was a silence in which Cheshire had hopped onto the table and pranced across all of Michael’s book and parchment.

Draco had leaned in, “do you want to kill Black?”

Harry looked at him briefly, before averting his eyes. “I… Hang on a minute… did you know?” 

“Know what?” Draco said. 

“That Black betrayed my parents?”

“How would I know that?” Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“Your parents knew… that’s what they were talking about when I overheard them.”

“I told you,” Draco said defensively, “my parents never told me anything about their time under You-Know-Who.” 

“We need to concentrate on our homework,” Michael said quickly, “the sooner we finish it the more time we’ll get to relax over the holiday…” 

But Harry didn’t think he could relax. That, with vengeance on his mind. 

After a restless morning of trying to focus on homework, the five of them went down to eat breakfast. Harry kept turning his fork between his fingers, staring mindlessly at the windows, whilst Michael and Draco compared their ice cubes that they were trying to transmute from their pumpkin juice. 

“Yours is still liquid in the middle,” Draco poked Michael’s weak looking ice cube. It was so fragile it caved in and melted. Then, he was distracted by something else, “Granger and Weasley are staying for the holidays? Dear me… I guess it wouldn’t be as boring after all…” 

“Why didn’t your parents take you with them to Russia?” Michael asked. 

“Mother wanted me to come but father insisted I stay at Hogwarts and keep Harry company since he has no good family to go back to…” 

“But if you had the choice…”

“I’d go to Russia,” said Draco, matter-of-factly. “I want to see the wizarding society there…” 

But Harry wasn’t really listening to care. He kept playing back that dream in his mind, over and over…

“Hagrid knows something…” Harry suddenly said. 

“About Russia?” Draco looked at him. 

“No, about Sirius Black… he knew him…” 

“Oh, you’re not still on about him, are you?” Draco sighed, “now I really do wish I went with my parents.” 

“We have to go and see Hagrid,” Harry stood up suddenly. “We have to talk to him.” 

“It’s a really bad idea, Harry,” Michael muttered. “What if Sirius Black is outside, he probably knows that you won’t be going-”

“Let’s go,” Harry said dismissively, standing up and making his way to the doors. He stopped and looked at his friends. He raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Fine, I’ll go alone.” 

Michael stood up, nudging Draco. Harry knew Michael wouldn’t risk Harry going by himself with Black on the loose; not like he really worried about that himself. If anything, it would be better that way. He could go all out if he knew Black couldn’t harm the people he cared for. 

Draco and Michael followed Harry out of the Castle, towards the half-giant’s hut. 

Harry knocked, but there was no answer. 

“He’s not out, is he?” said Michael, who was shivering under his cloak. 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Do you hear that?,” he said. “That noise... is that Fang?” 

Harry and Michael put their ears to the door. From inside the cabin came a series of low, throbbing moans. 

“Should we go and get someone?” said Michael nervously. 

“Hagrid!” called Harry, thumping the door. “Hagrid, are you in there?” 

There was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest. 

“You’ve heard?” he bellowed, and he flung himself onto Harry’s neck. 

Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this was no laughing matter. Harry, about to collapse under Hagrid’s weight, was rescued by Draco and Michael, who each seized Hagrid under an arm and heaved him back into the cabin. Hagrid allowed himself to be steered into a chair and slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that dripped down into his tangled beard. Draco didn’t look too pleased after touching him, wiping his robes with his gloves. 

“What’s happened?” Michael said. “Hagrid, are you okay?”

Harry spotted an official-looking letter lying open on the table. 

“What’s this, Hagrid?” 

Hagrid’s sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Harry, who picked it up and read aloud: “Dear Mr. Hagrid, Further to our inquiry into the attack by a Hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Draco said. “I told them it was the beast’s fault, not yours…” 

Michael looked at him, “actually, it was yours…”

“No one asked your opinion,” Draco hissed.

But Hagrid’s sobs got louder. He waved one of his gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on. 

“However, we must register our concern about the Hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your Hippogriff at the Committee’s offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the Hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.”

“Oh,” Michael muttered. “Oh no, Hagrid… They can’t…” 

“I wrote Father not to get involved… I didn’t know he scheduled a hearing,” Draco said, upon noticing Harry’s accusatory gaze. “But I’m sure it’s not that big a deal… after all, it’s just an ugly beast…”

“Ugly beas’?” Hagrid roared, “Buckbeak’s the mos’ beau’iful beast out there! But… but they don’ care…” he wiped his eyes with a large, shabby-looking handkerchief. 

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin made Harry, Draco, and Michael whip around. Buckbeak the Hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor. 

“I couldn’ leave him tied up out there in the snow!” choked Hagrid. “All on his own! At Christmas.” 

Draco looked disgusted. Even Harry felt a little sick. He never understood Hagrid’s choice of pets. Though, if it wasn’t for all the blood, he may even have looked kind of cute. 

“It’s okay, it’s not all decided yet,” Michael said, “we can all testify, after all we’re witnesses. And Draco would tell them that it was his fault, won’t you?” he looked at Draco. 

Draco quickly averted his gaze. “Hm…” 

“You woul’ do that?” Hagrid sniffled, blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and added, “I can’t affor’ ter fall apar’ now. Gotta pull meself together…” 

Fang the boarhound came timidly out from under the table and laid his head on Hagrid’s knee. 

“I’ve not bin meself lately,” said Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other. “Worried abou’ Buckbeak, an’ no one likin’ me classes...”

“We do like them,” Michael said quickly, but Draco was shaking his head. 

“I’m kind of sick of seeing those flobberworms each lesson. I rather you got yourself a classroom and we could learn about magical creatures in textbooks.” 

Harry didn’t think Draco’s blunt honesty was needed right now, but Hagrid nodded meekly. 

“Yer righ’, that’s a good idea… the Flobberworms’re dead now, anyway. Too much lettuce…” 

“Oh no,” Michael muttered. 

Draco snorted, earning himself an elbow to the ribs by his red-haired friend. 

“An’ them Dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an’ all,” said Hagrid, with a sudden shudder. “Gotta walk past ‘em ev’ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. ‘S like bein’ back in Azkaban...”

He fell silent, gulping his tea. Harry, Draco, and Michael watched him breathlessly. They had never heard Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. 

After a pause, Michael said timidly, “Is it really that bad in there, Hagrid?” 

“Yeh’ve no idea,” said Hagrid quietly. “Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin’ mad. Kep’ goin’ over horrible stuff in me mind… the day I got expelled from Hogwarts… day me dad died… day I had ter let Norbert go…” 

His eyes filled with tears. 

“Yeh can’ really remember who yeh are after a while. An’ yeh can’ really see the point o’ livin’ at all. I used ter hope I’d jus’ die in me sleep. When they let me out, it was like bein’ born again, ev’rythin’ came floodin’ back, it was the bes’ feelin’ in the world. Mind, the Dementors weren’t keen on lettin’ me go.” 

“But you were innocent!” said Harry.

Hagrid snorted. 

“Think that matters to them? They don’ care. Long as they’ve got a couple o’ hundred humans stuck there with ‘em, so they can leech all the happiness out of ‘em, they don’ give a damn who’s guilty an’ who’s not.” 

Hagrid went quiet for a moment, staring into his tea. Then he said quietly, “Thought o’ jus’ letting Buckbeak go… tryin’ ter make him fly away… but how d’yeh explain ter a Hippogriff it’s gotta go inter hidin’? An’... an’ I’m scared o’ breakin’ the law…” He looked up at them, tears leaking down his face again. “I don’ ever want ter go back ter Azkaban.”

Michael was glad that their visit to Hagrid’s had distracted Harry from Sirius Black, even if it was just for a brief time. Later on that day, Michael brought a load of books (he had Crabbe and Goyle carry most of them) back to the common room, and spread them all out on the table. 

“Seeing Crabbe and Goyle carrying books is a rare occurrence,” Draco remarked, as Harry and Michael opened up volumes of different cases similar to the one that they were trying to help Hagrid with. 

“I’ll write another letter to Father, I’ll see if I can talk him out of it… actually if I write to Mother, he might listen to her…” Draco said, getting out some parchment. 

They found a lot of gruesome cases with Hippogriffs. It all seemed bleak. A Manticore was let off but only because everyone was too afraid to approach it. 

Harry didn’t see how they could help Hagrid’s case. 

Meanwhile, in the rest of the castle, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations had been put up, despite the fact that hardly any of the students remained to enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe were strung along the corridors, mysterious lights shone from inside every suit of armor, and the Great Hall was filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars. A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervaded the corridors, and by Christmas Eve, it had grown so strong that even Cheshire left the common room to sniff around hopefully. 

On Christmas morning, Harry was woken by Draco throwing his pillow at him and Michael. 

“Wake up, you two! Presents!” 

Harry reached for his glasses and put them on, squinting through the semi-darkness to the foot of his bed, where a small heap of parcels had appeared. Draco was already ripping the paper off his own presents. 

When Michael tried to get his own packages from under the bed, Cheshire hissed at him threateningly, which took him aback. 

“What’s the matter?” Michael muttered. He didn’t seem to want to reach for them again for the fear that he’d get his hand bitten off. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Draco said, pulling out a round looking object inside of an expensive-looking, silk pouch. He read his letter first, and commented, “Mother got me this one. It’s an Imperial Egg from Russia. Apparently only wealthy people could afford it in the past, and was a sign of high society in Russia.” 

“Makes sense why she got it for you,” Michael said. 

Draco took out the Egg carefully. It was beautiful. Silver and emerald, just like the Slytherin colours. A small snake was embedded into it. As soon as he opened it, they saw that inside was a delicate, silver-looking snake, slithering about it’s ornate cage. 

“Cool,” Draco said, setting it down and forgetting about it as soon as he moved on to the next package. 

Harry looked down to his presents. He got one from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy too. A set of gorgeous, intricately painted Russian Dolls, with imbedded, golden linings. He opened the dolls, taking each one out of it’s shell, but it was never-ending. No matter how many he removed, they just kept on going. Each shell that was removed disintegrated into lovely stars which filled up the common-room with a festive, starry sky. 

“Wow,” Harry whispered. As much as he doubted Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy’s sincerity, he couldn’t deny that their taste for fine jewelry and arts was exquisite. 

“God, I wish they’d taken me to Russia. I don’t see why they couldn’t have taken all three of us. The wizarding society there is so much better. They don’t like mudbloods, and prefer to keep it with the old wizarding families.” 

Michael finally managed to snatch his presents from under the bed without Cheshire attacking him. He opened up his package from Draco’s parents and found a book of all the Magical Creatures that could be found in Russia, and how to tame them. His eyes lit up as he began flicking through. It came with an emerald bookmark which translated the pages from Russian into English. 

“Translating bookmark?” Harry said, surprised. 

“It could come in very useful. I’d love to travel and see different wizarding cultures. Ones that are pure, of course.” Draco said. “We should travel once we leave Hogwarts. Move to Russia. The English Wizarding World is going to the dogs…” 

“What did you get from your Father?” Michael asked. 

“He got me a new quill,” Draco showed it to them. It was the most expensive looking quill Harry had ever seen. 

“All pure silver stirling,” Draco boasted, reading from his letter. “Down to the core. Feather tail from a real life Thunderbird. It’s from America apparently but a merchant was selling it off in Russia. My father knew I’d love this…” 

Harry, meanwhile, was moving on to his next package and unwrapping it. 

“Mother also sent me a bunch of sweets from Russia. Never seen these kinds before. This looks like fudge… what are these shell looking things? ...ow, it bit me… wait, are these those flying rings Crabbe been on about? ...wow, Harry, look, it’s flying towards you…” 

But Harry wasn’t listening. His mouth was open. One could say he was in a state of shock. 

Draco looked up, wondering why he hadn’t gotten a response from his friend. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Michael glanced up from his book towards him. 

Harry’s lips moved, but no words came out. 

“What?”

Both Draco and Michael moved closer to him to see what he was looking at. 

Draco dropped his bag of bagel rings and they went flying out of the bag, floating up towards the ceiling to join the stars. “That’s… that’s…”

“The firebolt…” Michael whispered. 

“Who sent this?” Draco enquired. 

Harry took the packaging, breaking out of his stupor, and twisted it around, looking for any kind of name or note. There was nothing. 

“Could it be from Draco’s Father?” Michael asked. 

“No, it can’t… he’d have sent me one, too…” Draco said. Both Harry and Michael noticed the tinge of jealousy in his voice. “How is that fair?” 

“I don’t know… I don’t know who sent this… I can’t think who…” 

“Dumbledore, maybe?” Michael said. 

“Can’t be… it’d be favouritism…” Draco muttered. 

“Professor Snape?” Michael offered. 

“No, he hates me,” Harry said. “Impossible… And I’d bet my entire fortune and this broom that it wasn’t the Dursleys.” 

“Maybe there’s something wrong with it,” Draco said quickly, “maybe someone wants to sabotage or even kill you… I bet it’s the Gryffindors… or Sirius Black… Harry, you can’t ride this… what if it’s cursed…”

“You’re just jealous,” Harry said, without thinking. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for it.”

“Harry, Draco’s right,” Michael said. “This is very shady…”

“But… it’s the Firebolt!” Harry said quickly, “can you imagine me on the Firebolt? We’ll beat the rest of the houses and come out on top like it’s nothing.” 

“Whatever,” Draco said, clearly upset that he didn’t get one too. 

Though Michael actually looked concerned. “Maybe, if you hand it in, the teachers could check it for jinxes or curses…”

“I’m not handing it in,” Harry said. “My old Nimbus Two Thousand is acting up during practice. I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but I need a new broom. I’m sure it’s alright… I’m sure I have a distant relative somewhere… Or maybe even Lupin…”

“Lupin?” Draco snorted, “you kidding, right? He can’t even afford new robes… It’s an international standard broom, it costs a fortune, and only those in the World Cup have their hands on it.”

But even Draco’s saltiness couldn’t spoil his mood. It had taken Black off his mind, because now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it all morning. 

Christmas spirit was definitely thin on the ground in the Slytherin common room. Draco would look enviously at the Firebolt as it lay on the table from the leather armchair, as Harry and Michael stood around it, examining it in awe. 

Michael was performing revealing spells to try and see if he could spot any curses or jinxes, and with every fail, Draco would get even moodier. 

Crabbe and Goyle, on the other hand, were practically worshipping the broom. They would go to touch it, but then flinch and pull back their sausage fingers for fear of soiling the beauty. 

At lunchtime they went down to the Great Hall, to find that the House tables had been moved against the walls again, and that a single table, set for twelve, stood in the middle of the room. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick were there, along with Filch, the caretaker, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather moldy-looking tailcoat. There were only two other students. Ron and Hermione.

“Scabbers still hadn’t turned up,” Ron complained. “I’m telling you, your cat ate him. He never ran away like this before…”

“He had not!” Hermione snapped. 

“Hi,” Ron said in the same distraught voice to Harry and Michael, ignoring Draco, Crabbe and Goyle completely. 

“Merry Christmas!” said Dumbledore as the five of them approached the table. “As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables… Sit down, sit down!” 

Draco looked even more annoyed. “Can’t believe we have to sit with Weasley and Granger…” 

Just as his luck would have it, he had to sit opposite Hermione since it was the only seat left. 

“Crackers!” said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witches hat topped with a stuffed vulture. Harry, remembering the Boggart, caught Ron’s eye and they both grinned; Snape’s mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard’s hat at once.

“Dig in!” he advised the table, beaming around. As Harry was helping himself to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly. 

“Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!” said Dumbledore, standing up. 

“I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster,” said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway voice, “and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…” 

“Certainly, certainly,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “Let me draw you up a chair...”

And he did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. 

Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream. 

“I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!” 

“We’ll risk it, Sybill,” said Professor McGonagall impatiently. “Do sit down, the turkey’s getting stone cold.” 

Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen. “Tripe, Sybill?” 

Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, “But where is dear Professor Lupin?” 

“I’m afraid the poor fellow is ill again,” said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. “Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day.” 

“But surely you already knew that, Sybill?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised. 

Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look. 

“Certainly I knew, Minerva,” she said quietly. “But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous.” 

“That explains a great deal,” said Professor McGonagall tartly. 

Professor Trelawney’s voice suddenly became a good deal less misty. “If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him...” 

“Imagine that,” said Professor McGonagall dryly. 

“I doubt,” said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney’s conversation, “that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you’ve made the potion for him again?” 

“Yes, Headmaster,” said Snape. 

“Good,” said Dumbledore. “Then he should be up and about in no time…”

Professor Trelawney behaved almost normally until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later. Full to bursting with Christmas dinner, Harry and Michael got up first from the table and she shrieked loudly. 

“My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?” 

Harry shrugged. Michael’s eyes widened; he seemed to have forgotten her prediction. 

“I doubt it will make much difference,” said Professor McGonagall coldly, “unless a mad axeman is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall.” 

Draco snorted. 

Michael turned very pale. 

“Now why would you go and frighten children like that,” Professor McGonagall was shaking her head.

“Come on,” Harry turned to Draco. 

“You go ahead, I need to speak to Professor Snape,” Draco said.

So the two of them left. Michael, seemingly convinced Professor Trelawney was right, decided to leave the hall after Harry.

“What d’you think he wants to speak to Snape for?” Harry asked. 

“Maybe he wants to drop Divination. Or Arithmancy… he’s been complaining that it was too stressful.” 

As soon as they got back to the common room, Harry took out his Firebolt and his Broomstick Servicing Kit and tried to find something to do with it; however, there were no bent twigs to clip, and the handle was so shiny already it seemed pointless to polish it. He and Michael simply sat admiring it from every angle, until the Common Room door opened, and Draco came in, accompanied by Professor Snape.

Harry and Michael stared at him, both holding the Firebolt. 

Draco had an unreadable expression on his face, as Professor Snape marched towards them. 

“Mr. Malfoy had just filled me in about a certain Firebolt that was sent to Potter for Christmas…” his lips were curled in a contemptuous smile, but Harry could tell that he was far from happy. 

Harry stared at Draco, who was looking away, his arms crossed. He didn’t even realize that anger was welling up inside of him. 

Professor Snape placed his hand on Harry’s Firebolt, and tried to take it, but Harry and Michael weren’t letting go. 

“Give… it… to… me…” Snape warned, and reluctantly, they let it go. 

“What are you going to do with it?” Michael said quickly, before Harry could even speak. 

But Snape was too busy examining it. “No note? No idea who could have sent this to you, Potter?” Snape enquired. 

Harry swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. 

“There was nothing, Sir,” Draco said, looking at Harry. “For all we know, Black could’ve sent it…” 

Harry gritted his teeth. At that moment, he didn’t care who sent it to him. All he could think about was Draco’s betrayal. 

“I’m going to have to confiscate it,” Snape said. 

Harry’s mouth fell open, “but… but Professor… Quidditch…”

“I want Slytherin to win the House Cup just as much as you, Potter, but if this Broom is jinxed or cursed, you’re not going to have much luck catching the snitch with it, will you?” 

“But… but it’s not-”

“Silence!” Snape snapped, “I’m going to take this to those who can verify that it is safe to fly. Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down.” 

“Strip it down?” Michael’s mouth fell open, too. 

“If it is indeed, jix-free, you can have it back, Potter. It’ll take no more than a few weeks.” 

“Few weeks?” Harry moaned. “But there’s nothing wrong with it, Michael already checked it for Jinxes…”

“Do you really think a thirteen year old boy is going to be able to reveal a dark curse? If you don’t want detention, Potter, I suggest you stop arguing with my decision. After all, there are some… highly dangerous individuals who want you dead, and it is my job as a teacher to protect you.” 

But something gave Harry the idea that Snape didn’t really care much for protecting him. In fact, he expected him to let Harry fly the broom and then take amusement in his fall. He felt like Snape was only doing this to spite him. And at this moment, he was just as angry with Draco as he was with him. 

As soon as Snape left, Harry rounded on Draco. “How could you? You know Snape hates me, do you want us to lose the House Cup just because you’re jealous?” 

“I’m not jealous, Potter,” Draco snarled, “I’m saving your head. You should be grateful. You must be an idiot to believe that there’s someone out there who would send this to you out of the goodness of their hearts, it’s obvious it was from Black.” 

“No, you are jealous,” Harry said, “if it was sent to you, you wouldn’t think twice about it.”

“That’s because I know I have parents.” 

Harry looked at him with shock. Before he could say another word, Draco stormed off down into the dormitory. 

“If Black is smart, he would have probably used magic basic spells wouldn’t be able to reveal,” Michael said, as they walked back to the boy’s dormitory. “Maybe it’s for the best, you never know if there’s anything-”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Harry said positively. “I can’t believe Draco would tell Snape. He’s jealous, you saw his face. He wants the Firebolt just as much as I do…”

“I’m sure his father would buy him one if he asked. Maybe he really does think it’s jinxed,” Michael said.

Just as they had entered, a wild ball of ginger fur rushed past them into the Dormitory. Both Michael and Harry froze and watched as Cheshire leaped out from underneath the bed and hissed threateningly. 

“It’s Hermione’s cat!” Harry said. “What’s it doing here?” 

Before either of them could do anything, the ginger cat jumped onto Cheshire and there was furious scuffle in front of them. Michael jumped up to grab Cheshire, but through a storm of hissing and claws, once he had turned back around to face Harry, wide-eyed, Harry saw deep claw marks on his cheek. 

Draco looked up from his book to see what was going on.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry waved his wand at the ginger cat, causing it to freeze up, it’s paws together, tail pointing up like a rod. Cheshire was now backing off. 

“Harry, that’s horrible,” Michael said, picking up the frozen cat. 

“It was attacking Cheshire… and it scratched you. I think I better go take it to Hermione. Let’s try the library.” 

And sure enough, they found Hermione Granger in the library, reading about ten books at once, all spread across her table. 

Harry put her petrified, ginger cat in front of her. 

“Goodness! Crookshanks! What have you done to Crookshanks!”

“Crookshanks…” Harry began, “must’ve snuck into the Slytherin Common Room when Snape came to take my Firebolt. It attacked Cheshire and scratched Michael. I had no choice there’s no way we’d be able to tame it.”

“Oh…” Hermione quickly took her wand out and performed a counter-spell. Crookshanks began to lick himself irritably. 

“I’m sorry about the scratch, you should visit Madam Pomfrey. Crookshanks has been wandering off a lot, but I’m ever so busy with all of my homework and…” Hermione paused, her eyes locking with Harry. “Firebolt? You mean to say, you have a Firebolt?” 

“Had,” Harry said blankly. “Draco told Snape and he confiscated it. They think Black had sent it to try and kill me.” 

“Oh dear,” Hermione muttered. “Maybe it’s for the best then, they can check it for jinxes…”

“It’s not jinxed... “ Harry said stubbornly. 

When the two of them visited Madam Pomfrey to get rid of Michael’s scratch, and had returned to the common room, they didn’t speak to Draco. Michael tried to cheer Harry up, giving him sweets Mari had sent him and showing him different Russian Magical Creatures in his new book. 

But he couldn’t even force himself to smile. Harry had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short hours, and now, because of Draco’s interference, he didn’t know whether he would ever see it again. He was positive that there was nothing wrong with the Firebolt, but what sort of state would it be in once it had been subjected to all sorts of anti-jinx tests? 

Harry’s spirits were low as ever, and he couldn’t find himself smiling much for the rest of the Christmas holidays. 


	9. Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw

Once Christmas Holidays were over and all students returned to Hogwarts, Cedric Munroe grabbed Harry forcefully before he even managed to come up the dormitory stairs.

“Potter, we cannot afford you to faint if you see another Dementor. Something needs to be done about it!” 

“I’m working on it,” Harry said irritably. “Professor Lupin said he’d train me to ward off the Dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he’d have time after Christmas.” 

“Good. Get on it. And I’m warning you, if you don’t catch the snitch you’ll be ever so sorry…” he paused, “you’re not going to fly that old Nimbus though are you? You should get yourself a better broom…” 

“I got a new broom for Christmas,” Harry spoke sourly. 

“Oh? Why the long face, then? Don’t tell me you got a Shooting Star!”

“Oh no… Firebolt,” Harry muttered. 

Cedric was frozen to the spot. 

The chatter around them died down and everyone was suddenly listening in. Cole was shoving through the crowd holding macarons in both hands and one in his mouth. “A wiawol… ish showone shay wiawol?” 

He had almost choked when Evalyn slapped his back, his macaron falling from his mouth. “It’s the coolest broom ever… do you have one, Munroe?” 

“No, but Potter has...” Cedric declared. 

“Had,” Harry remarked miserably. “That’s until Professor Snape confiscated it. He wants to check it for jinxes because we don’t know who sent it.” 

“How outrageous!” Cedric bellowed, “I will speak to Professor Snape immediately, what kind of ludicrousy is this? A Firebolt!” 

Everyone around them were whispering. 

Harry caught eyes with Draco for a moment. He looked away quickly. 

* * *

Classes started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for their enjoyment, and they spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. 

The first Divination lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney was now teaching them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the shortest life line she had ever seen. 

It was Defense Against the Dark Arts that Harry was keen to get to; he wanted to get started on his anti-Dementor lessons as soon as possible for the next Quidditch Match. 

“Ah yes,” said Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. “Let me see… how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough… I’ll have to think carefully about how we’re going to do this… We can’t bring a real Dementor into the castle to practice on…” 

“He still looks so unwell, doesn’t he?” said Michael as they walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. “What d’you reckon’s the matter with him?” 

There was a loud and impatient “tuh” from behind them. It was Draco, sauntering behind them followed by Crabbe and Goyle. 

“What?” Harry snapped. 

“Isn’t it obvious what’s wrong with Lupin?” Draco said. “I thought the entire class would figure it out by now…”

“What’s wrong with him?” Michael said quickly. 

“...Nothing…” Draco said slowly, smirking. “Figure it out for yourselves, since you’re so smart…” 

He shoved past Michael, disappearing in the crowd of fifth years in front of them. Crabbe and Goyle hurried along behind. 

“W.. what exactly does he mean, the whole class?” Michael muttered. 

Harry shook his head, “don’t listen to him, he probably doesn’t know either and just wants to taunt us.” 

“I hate it when he gets like this… hopefully you’ll make up soon.” 

“Definitely not if I don’t get my Firebolt back.” 

“Is it really more important than your friendship?” Michael asked. 

“It’s not about the broom,” Harry stated. “He did it because he was jealous. And unless he apologises, I couldn’t care less.” 

Michael knew it wasn’t a good idea to argue with him when he was heated. So instead of hanging out in the Common Room like they usually did, they spent the afternoon at the Library, studying with Hermione. 

* * *

At eight o’clock on Thursday evening, Harry left the Dungeons for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes when Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binn’s desk. 

“What’s that?” said Harry. 

“Another Boggart,” said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. “I’ve been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch’s filing cabinet. It’s the nearest we’ll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, so we’ll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we’re not using him; there’s a cupboard under my desk he’ll like.” 

“Okay,” said Harry, trying to sound as though he wasn’t apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real Dementor. 

“So…” Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. “The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry... well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.” 

“How does it work?” said Harry nervously. 

“Well, when it works correctly, It conjures up a Patronus,” said Lupin, “which is a kind of anti-Dementor; a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor.” 

Harry had a sudden vision of himself crouching behind a Hagrid-sized figure holding a large club. 

Professor Lupin continued, “The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon; hope, happiness, the desire to survive; but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can’t hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it.” 

“What does a Patronus look like?” said Harry curiously. 

“Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it.” 

“And how do you conjure it?” 

“With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.” 

Harry cast his mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that had happened to him at the Dursleys’ was going to do. Finally, he settled on the moment when he had first ridden a broomstick. 

“Right,” he said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation of his stomach. 

“The incantation is this...” Lupin cleared his throat. “Expecto Patronum!” 

“Expecto Patronum,” Harry repeated under his breath, “Expecto Patronum.” 

“Concentrating hard on your happy memory?” 

“Oh... yeah...” said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. “Expecto Patrono... no, Patronum... sorry... Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum” 

Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas. 

“Did you see that?” said Harry excitedly. “Something happened!” 

“Very good,” said Lupin, smiling. “Right, then... ready to try it on a Dementor?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding… Any second now, he might hear his mother again… but he shouldn’t think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn’t want to… or did he? Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled. A Dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him…

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry yelled. “Expecto Patronum! Expecto...” 

But the classroom and the Dementor were dissolving… 

Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and his mother’s voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head, “Not Harry! Not Harry! Please... I’ll do anything...” 

“Stand aside... stand aside, girl...” 

“Harry!” 

Harry jerked back to life. He was lying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn’t have to ask what had happened. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses. 

“Are you all right?” said Lupin. 

“Yes…” Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it. 

“Here...” Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. “Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had.” 

“It’s getting worse,” Harry muttered, biting off the Frog’s head. “I could hear her louder that time... and him... Voldemort...” 

Lupin looked paler than usual. “Harry, if you don’t want to continue, I will more than understand...” 

“I do!” said Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog into his mouth. “I’ve got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can’t afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we’ve lost the Quidditch Cup!” 

“All right then…” said Lupin. “You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on… That one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough…” 

Harry thought hard and decided his feelings when Slytherin had won the House Championship last year had definitely qualified as very happy. He gripped his wand tightly again and took up his position in the middle of the classroom. 

“Ready?” said Lupin, gripping the box lid. 

“Ready,” said Harry; trying hard to fill his head with happy thoughts about Slytherin winning, and not dark thoughts about what was going to happen when the box opened. 

“Go!” said Lupin, pulling off the lid. 

The room went icily cold and dark once more. The Dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Harry... 

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry yelled. “Expecto Patronum! Expecto Pat...” 

White fog obscured his senses… big, blurred shapes were moving around him… then came a new voice, a man’s voice, shouting, panicking; “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off...” 

The sounds of someone stumbling from a room... a door bursting open... a cackle of highpitched laughter... 

“Harry! Harry… wake up…” Lupin was tapping Harry hard on the face. This time it was a minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor. 

“I heard my dad,” Harry mumbled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him... he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it…” 

Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see. 

“You heard James?” said Lupin in a strange voice. 

“Yeah…” Face dry, Harry looked up. “Why... you didn’t know my dad, did you?” 

“I... I did, as a matter of fact,” said Lupin. “We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry... perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced… I shouldn’t have suggested putting you through this…” 

“No!” said Harry. He got up again. “I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough things, that’s what it is… hang on…” 

He racked his brains. A really, really happy memory… one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus… 

The moment when he’d first found out he was a wizard, and would be leaving the Dursleys for Hogwarts! If that wasn’t a happy memory, he didn’t know what was… 

Concentrating very hard on how he had felt when he’d realized he’d be leaving Privet Drive, Harry got to his feet and faced the packing case once more. 

“Ready?” said Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. “Concentrating hard? All right... go!” 

He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the Dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark... 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Harry bellowed. “EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!” 

The screaming inside Harry’s head had started again... except this time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio; softer and louder and softer again… and he could still see the Dementor… it had halted… and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry’s wand, to hover between him and the Dementor, and though Harry’s legs felt like water, he was still on his feet… though for how much longer, he wasn’t sure… 

“Riddikulus!” roared Lupin, springing forward. There was a loud crack, and Harry’s cloudy Patronus vanished along with the Dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he’d just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the Boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb again. 

“Excellent!” Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. “Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!” 

“Can we have another go? Just one more go?” 

“Not now,” said Lupin firmly. “You’ve had enough for one night. Here...” He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes’ best chocolate. “Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?” 

“Okay,” said Harry. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the Dementor. A thought had just occurred to him. 

“Professor Lupin?” he said. “If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.” 

Lupin turned very quickly. 

“What gives you that idea?” he said sharply. 

“Nothing... I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too…” 

Lupin’s face relaxed. 

“Yes, I knew him,” he said shortly. “Or I thought I did. You’d better be off, Harry, it’s getting late.” 

Harry left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around a corner, then took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish his chocolate, wishing he hadn’t mentioned Black, as Lupin was obviously not keen on the subject. 

Then Harry’s thoughts wandered back to his mother and father… He felt drained and strangely empty, even though he was so full of chocolate. Terrible though it was to hear his parents’ last moments replayed inside his head, these were the only times Harry had heard their voices since he was a very small child. But he’d never be able to produce a proper Patronus if he half wanted to hear his parents again… 

“They’re dead,” he told himself sternly. “They’re dead and listening to echoes of them won’t bring them back. You’d better get a grip on yourself if you want that Quidditch Cup.” 

He stood up, crammed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth, and headed back to Dungeons. 

* * *

Ravenclaw played Hufflepuff a week after the start of term. Hufflepuff won, though narrowly. According to Cedric Munroe, this was good news for Slytherin, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increased the number of team practices to five a week. This meant that with Lupin’s anti-Dementor classes, which in themselves were more draining than six Quidditch practices, Harry had just one night a week to do all his homework. 

Still a little angry about the confiscation of his Firebolt, Harry didn’t speak to Draco. Michael seemed to respect his decision and didn’t communicate with him either, though he had tried to talk him into forgiving him. 

“What if he was right and it is full of jinxes, Harry? What if it killed you?”

“That’s not the point,” Harry said sternly. “He didn’t do it because he’s worried about me.” 

At that moment, Cedric Munroe strutted into the Common Room, announcing his arrival.

“Oh, Potter!” he approached their table. “I spoke to Professor Snape. No luck I’m afraid, refuses to see reason. Apparently your life is more important than the Quidditch Cup? Haha got his priorities twisted, if you ask me…” 

Harry blinked. Cedric looked at him like he couldn’t have possibly said anything offensive. “You need to order yourself another Nimbus Two Thousand and One. There’s no way you’re riding that slow old broomstick.” 

“Hm…” Harry said absent-mindedly. He caught eyes with Draco, who quickly looked away again. 

January faded imperceptibly into February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against Ravenclaw was drawing nearer and nearer, but Harry still hadn’t ordered a new broom. He was now asking Professor Snape for news of the Firebolt after every Potions lesson, Michael standing hopefully at his shoulder, and Draco listening in every chance he could get. 

“How many times must you ask, Potter? I told you, not yet. Now, quit pestering me and move along to your next class.” 

To make matters even worse, Harry’s anti-Dementor lessons were not going nearly as well as he had hoped. Several sessions on, he was able to produce an indistinct, silvery shadow every time the Boggart-Dementor approached him, but his Patronus was too feeble to drive the Dementor away. All it did was hover, like a semi-transparent cloud, draining Harry of energy as he fought to keep it there. Harry felt angry with himself, guilty about his secret desire to hear his parents’ voices again. 

“You’re expecting too much of yourself,” said Professor Lupin sternly in their fourth week of practice. “For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren’t passing out anymore, are you?” 

“I thought a Patronus would… charge the Dementors down or something,” said Harry dispiritedly. “Make them disappear...” 

“The true Patronus does do that,” said Lupin. “But you’ve achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the Dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground.” 

“You said it’s harder if there are loads of them,” said Harry. 

“I have complete confidence in you,” said Lupin, smiling. “Here... you’ve earned a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks. You won’t have tried it before...” 

He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase. 

“Butterbeer!” said Harry, without thinking. “Yeah, I like that stuff!” 

Lupin raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh… Draco and Michael brought me some back from Hogsmeade,” Harry said quickly. 

“I see,” said Lupin, though he still looked slightly suspicious. “Well... let’s drink to a Slytherin victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I could have ever imagined rooting for Slytherin…” he said, then added hastily, “I mean, teachers aren’t supposed to take sides.” 

But Harry felt like Lupin had a little bit of disdain in his voice when he said it. He wasn’t a stranger to unfavouritism because of his house. 

“My parents were in Gryffindor, weren’t they? Were you Gryffindor too, Professor?” Harry asked suddenly. 

“Yes,” Lupin nodded. “It took me by surprise when I heard you were in Slytherin. Nothing wrong with that, of course. But you do have a lot of courage in you, Harry.” 

Harry began to wonder again, what would have happened if he was sorted into Gryffindor. He would have been in the house his parents were in; he could have carried on his father’s Quidditch legacy. Not that he couldn’t do that in a different house... But if he was put into Gryffindor, would he have still been friends with Draco and Michael? Would he have survived the very first year without them underneath that trap door?

They drank the rest of their butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he’d been wondering for a while. 

“What’s under a Dementor’s hood?” 

Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully. 

“Hmmm… well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the Dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon.” 

“What’s that?” 

“They call it the Dementor’s Kiss,” said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. “It’s what Dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and... and suck out his soul.” 

Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer. “What... they kill?” 

“Oh no,” said Lupin. “Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no… anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever… lost.” 

Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, then said, “It’s the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the Dementors permission to perform it if they find him.” 

Harry sat stunned for a moment at the idea of someone having their soul sucked out through their mouth. But then he thought of Black. 

“He deserves it,” he said suddenly. 

“You think so?” said Lupin lightly. “Do you really think anyone deserves that?” 

“Yes,” said Harry defiantly. “For… for some things…” 

He would have liked to have told Lupin about the conversation he’d overheard about Black in the Three Broomsticks, about Black betraying his mother and father, but it would have involved revealing that he’d gone to Hogsmeade without permission, and he knew Lupin wouldn’t be very impressed by that. So he finished his butterbeer, thanked Lupin, and left the History of Magic classroom. 

Harry half wished that he hadn’t asked what was under a Dementor’s hood, the answer had been so horrible, and he was so lost in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like to have your soul sucked out of you that he walked headlong into Professor Snape halfway down the Dungeon stairs. 

“Watch where you’re going...” 

“Sorry...” 

“I’ve just been looking for you in the Slytherin common room, Potter. Well, here it is, we’ve done everything we could think of, and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it…” 

Harry’s jaw dropped. Snape was holding out his Firebolt, and it looked as magnificent as ever. 

“I can have it back?” Harry said weakly. “Seriously?” 

Professor Snape’s lip curled in an unsatisfied smile, like he half wished that it weren’t true. 

“Seriously… Now, I cannot fathom who would spend this much on you, Potter, but I suggest you get the feel of it before Saturday’s match. I’m sure Slytherin is going to win once again with flying colours. Do. Not. Disappoint. Me.”

Speechless, Harry carried the Firebolt down into the Dungeons. As he turned a corner, he saw Michael dashing toward him, beaming. 

“I can’t believe you got it back! Come on, everyone wants to see it…” 

Harry felt some weight lift off his shoulders; at least, despite everything, he could have his new broom. 

“At least we now know that it’s a hundred percent safe, Harry,” Michael said as they entered the Common Room. 

Draco looked up at them from his armchair, and once he saw the Firebolt, he got up and sauntered towards the Dormitory staircase. 

“Maybe we should talk to him,” Michael muttered. 

“Not until he apologises,” Harry said, placing his Firebolt on the table as everyone in the Common Room gathered around it excitedly. 

“Is this really yours, Potter?” Harry heard a voice behind him say. 

He turned around to see Pansy Parkinson, her arms crossed. 

“Yes, it is,” Harry said plainly. 

“Well, you better catch the snitch then. Got no excuses now, have you?” 

Harry didn’t know why, but he smiled and nodded. And he could have sworn that he saw a small smile on her face, too. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Came Cedric’s obnoxious voice from his left. “This is the beauty, eh? Wow, we’re going to win for sure. How very stunning. I’m pleased and very much impressed, yes.” He was patting Harry’s shoulder rather aggressively; it was as if he had zero excuses to lose the House Cup now that he had the Firebolt. 

Harry felt the pressure, but it didn’t feel bad; it made him even more determined to win, to prove that he was worth this racing broom. 

“Wow, so that’s the Firebolt?” Cole came strutting over, pushing Crabbe and Goyle aside and waving his lollipop at Harry, “I guess that means we can relax, right, Munroe? Ravenclaw’ll have no chance, they’re all on Cleansweep Sevens...”

“We might as well start celebrating early,” Victoria piped up. 

“Have you ridden it yet? How does it go?” 

“Can I hold it?”

“Can I just touch it?” 

After ten minutes or so, during which the Firebolt was passed around and admired from every angle, Harry and Michael spotted Draco coming up from the Dormitory. 

Michael stepped towards him, but Harry grabbed his wrist. “Don’t…” 

Michael sighed, pulling his arm away, “you’re both too stubborn, I doubt either of you will ever apologise to the other at this rate…” 

“He had my broom confiscated!” Harry snapped. 

“And you have it back now. And you can be certain that it’s safe to ride…” 

“Exactly,” Draco was now approaching them, “If you ask me, you should be thanking me, Potter.” 

“You only did it because you’re jealous,” Harry crossed his arms. 

“Oh, come on,” Michael sighed, “is it worth hating each other over a broom?” 

“I’m not jealous at all; Father’ll get me a Firebolt for my birthday if I wanted one. I can imagine what a servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is capable of if he wants you dead,” Draco stated.

“Somehow I find it hard to believe that you care,” Harry said. 

“Is that what you really think? You think I want my best friend dead?” 

“You could have told me that you were planning to talk to Professor Snape…”

“And what would you have said?” 

“That’s enough,” Michael said. “Let’s go and put the Firebolt away before Crabbe and Goyle eat it…” he glanced over at the two oversized boys who were fawning over the broom.

Draco smirked and turned to the Dormitory stairway, as Harry took his Firebolt and the three of them descended. 

“Can you imagine Ravenclaw’s faces when they see you riding the Firebolt,” Draco said, seemingly over his jealous strop. “They will die of envy. I heard they’ve got this girl as a seeker. Bet she’s no good…” 

As soon as they entered the common room, they saw Cheshire sitting in front of Michael’s bed, and a flash of grey along the skirting. 

“Was that a rat?” Draco looked disgusted. 

“Won’t be the first,” Harry said; the Castle was no stranger to rats and mice. 

“What are they doing in our Dormitory? I’m going to talk to Professor Snape, it’s disgusting…”

“Don’t cats usually chase rats?” Harry muttered to Michael, watching Cheshire who seemed to be entirely uninterested. 

“I already fed him,” Michael said. 

“Why are you trying to understand the logic of cats,” Draco shook his head, making his way to his bed. Harry put his Firebolt away, but he was eerily aware of Cheshire’s sharp stare. 

Close to midnight, Harry woke to quiet rustling by his bed. He turned his head, squinting, reaching for his glasses, and saw that Michael was putting on his cloak. 

“Michael?” 

Michael almost jumped, turning to look at him. “Harry... I- I was just…”

“Sneaking out again to see Crowe?” Harry said. “I thought we talked about this… Sirius Black could be anywhere.”

“He’s not here, Harry,” Michael sighed. “He’s long gone, Dumbledore said so himself.” 

Harry sat up and reached under his bed. “Then we’re going together,” he said, fishing out his Invisibility Cloak and his Marauders Map just in case. 

Michael looked surprised but he didn’t argue. So the two of them sneaked into the same classroom as before. 

Harry watched his best friend and the Gryffindor Seeker duel whilst eating Honeydukes sweets, the map opened on his lap just in case he was to see any teachers around. But he saw no one. 

He couldn’t help but hope that he would catch a glimpse of Black, though. If he was nearby, Harry would be able to get his revenge. Though he wasn’t sure how he was going to go about it. Would he, a thirteen year old boy, be powerful enough to defeat Sirius Black, a notorious murderer who once worked for Lord Voldemort? 

“Flipendo,” Michael swung his wand forward, sending Jonathan Crowe backward into the tables against the wall. 

He looked accomplished, like it was his first time defeating the older student. 

Harry clapped, and looked down. He squinted at the map. He saw footsteps edging closer around the turn of one of the hallways marked “Argus Filch,” followed by “Mrs. Norris.” 

“Filch’s coming,” Harry said quickly, so the three of them hid under Harry’s cloak. 

Filch opened the door and glanced inside. They held their breaths. 

“Nothing here my sweet…” Filch held his lamp, his face waxy in the warm glow. He turned around and dragged his feet. 

Once he was long gone, the three of them decided it would be wise to go back to their Common Rooms. Heading up to the Gryffindor Tower first, Michael whispered, “is it true that you’re... dating Evalyn?” 

“No,” Jonathan said plainly. “What gives you that idea?” 

“Well, I don’t know, that’s what everyone is saying.” 

Harry didn’t really care for the gossip. He was looking out for teachers and/or escaped convicted murderers, squinting to see through the dark. 

Once they got back to their common rooms, Harry fell on his bed and drifted off to sleep almost immediately; for tomorrow he would finally get the chance to ride his new broom. He dreamt about it, dreamt about flying in a massive stadium; way bigger than the Hogwarts pitch; with thousands upon thousands of people watching. He was zooming through the air on his Firebolt, squinting for the Snitch. 

He was playing for the World Cup. 

Two Bludgers smashed past him, knocking off his opponent. He caught sight of the Golden Snitch and raced after it, he was getting so close. He reached out his hand, he almost got it… and then everything went icily cold. 

He felt his excitement drain away, and everything went quiet. The cheers from the stadium were deaf to him, and then he saw a bony hand gripping his broom. 

Harry pushed his hands into his robes searching for his wand; but it wasn’t there. How could he have forgotten his wand? Next moment, the Dementor appeared, edging closer to him, sucking the air around him. Everything faded into darkness, and he heard his mother scream again. 

And then he woke up. 

Sweat-ridden and nauseous, Harry got up to grab a drink from the window sill. He had his final practice before the match today. He couldn’t afford to faint again. 

During practice, Harry promised to let Draco ride his Firebolt just to shut him up about it. Michael watched from the stands, excited to see Harry fly it for the first time, Crabbe and Goyle eating Cauldron Cakes either side. 

Madam Hooch, who was still overseeing Slytherin practices to keep an eye on Harry, was just as impressed with the Firebolt as everyone else had been. She took it in her hands before takeoff and gave them the benefit of her professional opinion. 

“Look at the balance on it! If the Nimbus series has a fault, it’s a slight list to the tail end... you often find they develop a drag after a few years. They’ve updated the handle too, a bit slimmer than the Cleansweeps, reminds me of the old Silver Arrows; a pity they’ve stopped making them. I learned to fly on one, and a very fine old broom it was too…” 

She continued in this vein for some time, until Cedric appeared, “Madam Hooch, we appreciate your professional opinion but we need to practice.” 

“Oh... right... here you are, then, Potter,” said Madam Hooch. “I’ll go sit in the stadium.”

Cedric turned around as the Slytherin team gathered around him for his talk. 

“We’re playing against Ravenclaw tomorrow. The trick is, Cole, you have to remember that each house has their own talents and we have to play off of that…” 

Cole, who was to replace Cedric as Captain since it was his last year, nodded like he was listening. 

“Ravenclaws are smart. So we have to outsmart them. Because they’re so logical, we’ll be able to predict their next moves much easier. Unlike with Gryffindor, brute force won’t cut it. That’s why I’ve built up a strategy plan.” 

And so they listened to Cedric’s plan attentively, Harry was surprised how well thought out it was; Cedric had never really cared about Quidditch as much as he did this year. 

“Plus Cho Chang is coming back as seeker for Ravenclaw, pity her injuries healed so soon. Though her broom is so ancient she stands no chance against Harry’s Firebolt.” 

The mere mention of the Firebolt had everyone looking at Harry and his broom with adoration. 

It was no secret that Slytherins always had the best brooms; but with their best seeker on a Firebolt they were unstoppable. 

“Right, everyone ready? Let’s go…” 

And at long last, Harry mounted his Firebolt, and kicked off from the ground. 

It was better than he’d ever dreamed. The Firebolt turned with the lightest touch; it seemed to obey his thoughts rather than his grip; it sped across the field at such speed that the stadium turned into a green-and-gray blur; Harry turned it so sharply that Evalyn screamed. He went into a perfectly controlled dive, brushing the grassy field with his toes before rising thirty, forty, fifty feet into the air again…

“Here comes the Snitch!” Cedric announced boldly, letting it out of the trunk.

Harry turned and raced a Bludger toward the goal posts; he outstripped it easily, saw the Snitch dart out from behind Cedric, and within ten seconds had caught it tightly in his hand. 

The team cheered madly. Harry let the Snitch go again, gave it a minute’s head start, then tore after it, weaving in and out of the others; he spotted it lurking near Draco’s knee, looped him easily, and caught it again. 

Inspired by Harry’s performance, everyone played flawlessly; even so that Cedric had no complaints to give by the end. 

“This… this is how we have to play. Truly outstanding, marvellous!” he clapped like it was the best theatre performance he had ever seen. 

“Ravenclaw’s going down!” Cole slid off his broom like off a stair railing, as Harry landed somewhere nearby with perfect ease. 

Michael was running down the Quidditch field looking utterly excited. “Harry!” he beamed, “I never seen anything like it!” 

Crabbe and Goyle were nodding furiously at his side. 

Draco landed next to them, getting off his broom. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Father’ll have to buy me one, I’m going to write to him straight away.” 

Michael and Harry both laughed. Harry remembered that he was to let Draco try it, so he handed the broom over to him. 

Draco didn’t look too amazed by it; it’s as if he expected no less. “Feels much better than the Nimbus,” he stated. 

Once he kicked off the ground, he went flying off toward the hoops, seemingly unprepared for the burst of speed that came with it. All they could hear was a long, fading scream, as he rose into the sky. 

“W- we should go soon, it’s getting dark,” Michael was saying, trying to contain his laughter. Draco soon circled back and landed in front of them looking like a champion. 

“That was outstanding, of course, I’m not surprised,” he said matter-of-factly. But something gave Harry the idea he wasn’t quite eager to give him his broom back. 

“We’ve got to go back to the Castle,” Michael said. 

Madam Hooch had fallen asleep in the stands, so they went up to wake her and made their way back to the grounds. 

They were halfway toward the castle when Harry, glancing to his left, saw something that made his heart turn over; a pair of eyes, gleaming out of the darkness. 

Harry stopped dead, his heart banging against his ribs. 

“What’s wrong?” Michael muttered. 

Harry pointed. 

Draco pulled out his wand and muttered, “Lumos!”

A beam of light fell across the grass, hit the bottom of a tree, and illuminated its branches; there, crouching among the budding leaves, was Hermione’s cat, Crookshanks. 

“What’s that beast up to now?” Draco asked irritably, lowering his wand. 

But Harry was relieved. For a second he thought it might have been that dog again. 

“Is he stalking you?” Michael kept looking back as they reached the entrance. 

Harry shrugged; though it did seem weird how that cat kept appearing in the Slytherin Common Room out of all places, and now here. 

Harry went down to breakfast the next morning with the rest of the boys in his dormitory, all of whom seemed to think the Firebolt deserved a sort of guard of honor. Crabbe appointed himself but Draco remarked that he would lose it in a heartbeat; so they had finally decided on Blaise Zabini. 

As Harry entered the Great Hall, heads turned in the direction of the Firebolt, and there was a good deal of excited muttering. Harry saw, with enormous satisfaction, that the Ravenclaw team were all looking thunderstruck. 

“Good job Harry didn’t ride that bad boy during our match,” Fred called.

“We’d still beat you, though… losers!” George snickered. 

“Quiet, Weasley,” Draco snapped as they sat down. 

“Put it here, Potter,” Cole said, and with a whish of his wand, the table cleared. He slapped the table, as Harry lay the broom in the middle and carefully turning it so that its name faced upward. 

People from the Hufflepuff table were soon coming over to look, but Cedric Munroe shooed them away. Cedric Diggory came over to congratulate Harry on having acquired such a superb replacement for his Nimbus, and was greeted by a cold, murderous stare from Cedric Munroe. 

“I don’t know what you think is so funny, Diggory, the fact that you got away with your blatant thievery or that you presume yourself to be more talented than a Firebolt.” 

“Thievery?” Cedric Diggory looked confused. 

“You stole my name!” Cedric Munroe snapped. 

“I’m genuinely sorry if you feel that way,” Cedric Diggory replied earnestly, which made Harry smile a bit. He liked this Cedric much better. All of the girls in the Great Hall did too; they fawned over him; even on the Slytherin table. Pansy Parkinson was trying to shuffle closer under the pretence of getting to touch the Firebolt. 

“I just wanted to say, Harry, I mean no ill will, and I hope you know that there’s no need for any animosity.” 

Harry nodded agreeably, but Cedric Munroe was now stepping forward in front of him. 

“I can see right through you. Now shoo, go back to your silly little arts and crafts club.” 

Cedric Diggory locked eyes with Harry once more, smiled, and retreated back to his table. 

Cedric Munroe was now shaking his head. “Honestly, who does he think he is... I’d keep your Firebolt far away from that thieving liar if I was you.” 

Harry sat down in between Michael and Draco, and ate his breakfast quickly. He had never felt more confident; he now had the best broom in the entire Wizarding World, and knew a spell that could deter dementors if they were to intrude again. He felt his robe pocket for the fifth time to make sure that he had not forgotten his wand. 

As he was getting to his last slice of toast, he noticed that Draco was whispering something to Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Pike. They listened intently, and once he had finished, they were smirking and nodding. 

“What’s that all about?” Harry asked, when Draco turned back around towards the table. 

“Nothing,” Draco drawled with a sneer, taking a bite of his bacon. 

At a quarter to eleven, the Slytherin team set off for the locker rooms. The weather couldn’t have been more different from their match against Gryffindor. It was a clear, cool day with a very light breeze; there would be no visibility problems this time, and Harry, though nervous, was starting to feel the excitement only a Quidditch match could bring. 

They could hear the rest of the school moving into the stadium beyond. Harry took off his black school robes, removed his wand from his pocket, and stuck it inside the T-shirt he was going to wear under his Quidditch robes. He only hoped he wouldn’t need it, but he double checked twice more after he had put on his gear. 

He wondered suddenly whether Professor Lupin was in the crowd, watching. 

“You all know what we’ve got to do,” said Cedric as they prepared to leave the locker rooms. “If we lose this match, we’re out. I expect to see nothing less than our last practice match from all of you today.”

They walked out onto the field to tumultuous applause from the Slytherin stand. But because Harry was on the team, some of the other houses clapped too. 

The Ravenclaw team, dressed in blue, were already standing in the middle of the field. Their Seeker, Cho Chang, was the only girl on their team. She was shorter than Harry by about a head, and Harry couldn’t help noticing, nervous as he was, that she was extremely pretty. 

She smiled at Harry as the teams faced each other behind their captains, and he felt a slight lurch in the region of his stomach that he didn’t think had anything to do with nerves. 

“Munroe, Davies, shake hands,” Madam Hooch said briskly, and Cedric shook hands with the Ravenclaw Captain. 

“Mount your brooms… on my whistle… three... two... one...” 

Harry kicked off into the air and the Firebolt zoomed higher and faster than any other broom; he soared around the stadium and began squinting around for the Snitch, listening all the while to the commentary, which was being provided by Lee Jordan, an overly-enthusiastic Gryffindor. 

“They’re off, and the big shock of this match is the Firebolt that Harry Potter is flying for Slytherin. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt’s going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year’s World Championship...” 

“Jordan, would you mind telling us what’s going on in the match?” interrupted Professor McGonagall’s voice. 

“Right you are, Professor... just giving a bit of background information... it’s a shame that Slytherin got their hands on such a beauty… it, incidentally, has a built-in auto-brake and...” 

“Jordan!” 

“Okay, okay, Slytherin in possession, Victoria Meyrose of Slytherin, heading for goal…” 

Harry streaked past Victoria in the opposite direction, gazing around for a glint of gold and noticing that Cho Chang was tailing him closely. She was undoubtedly a very good flier; she kept cutting across him, forcing him to change direction. 

Cole had whizzed past him, swinging his bat at an on-coming bludger, aiming it towards Cho Chang. 

Cho dodged it swiftly, and Cole let out a loud “boo!” 

Harry urged the Firebolt forward as they rounded the Ravenclaw goal posts and Cho fell behind. Just as Victoria succeeded in scoring the first goal of the match, and the Slytherin end of the field went wild, he saw it; the Snitch was close to the ground, flitting near one of the barriers. 

Harry dived; Cho saw what he was doing and tore after him. Harry was speeding up, excitement flooding him; dives were his specialty, he was ten feet away…

Then a Bludger, hit by one of the Ravenclaw Beaters, came pelting out of nowhere; Harry veered off course, avoiding it by an inch, and in those few, crucial seconds, the Snitch had vanished. 

There was a great “Ooooooh” of disappointment from the Slytherin supporters, but much applause for their Beater from the Ravenclaw end. Cole yelled in anger and pelted the Bludger directly at the offending Beater, who was forced to roll right over in midair to avoid it. 

“Slytherin leads by eighty points to zero, it’s all because of that Firebolt! Potter’s really putting it through its paces now, see it turn... Chang’s Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt’s precision... balance is really noticeable in these long...” 

“JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!” 

Ravenclaw was pulling back; they had now scored three goals, which put Slytherin only fifty points ahead; if Cho got the Snitch before him, Ravenclaw would win. Harry dropped lower, narrowly avoiding a Ravenclaw Chaser, scanning the field frantically... a glint of gold, a flutter of tiny wings... the Snitch was circling the Slytherin goal post… Draco seemed totally blind to it. 

Harry accelerated, eyes fixed on the speck of gold ahead... but just then, Cho appeared out of thin air, blocking him. 

“KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM!” Cedric yelled, but Harry couldn’t get himself to do it. 

He turned and caught sight of Cho; she was grinning. The Snitch had vanished again. Harry turned his Firebolt upward and was soon twenty feet above the game. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cho following him… She’d decided to mark him rather than search for the Snitch herself… All right, then… if she wanted to tail him, she’d have to take the consequences… 

He dived again, and Cho, thinking he’d seen the Snitch, tried to follow; Harry pulled out of the dive very sharply; she hurtled downward; he rose fast as a bullet once more, and then saw it, for the third time; the Snitch was glittering way above the field at the Ravenclaw end. He accelerated; so, many feet below, did Cho. He was faster, but Cho was closer, her hand hovering over the golden ball. 

“Oh!” screamed Evalyn, pointing, distracting Cho. 

Harry looked down. 

Two Dementors, two tall, black, hooded Dementors, were looking up at her. 

Harry didn’t stop to think. Plunging a hand down the neck of his robes, he whipped out his wand and roared, “Expecto patronum!” 

Something silver-white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wand. He knew it had shot directly at the Dementors but didn’t pause to watch; his mind still miraculously clear, he looked ahead; the golden ball rose eye-level. He stretched out the hand still grasping his wand and just managed to close his fingers over the small, struggling Snitch. 

Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded. Harry turned around in midair and saw six emerald blurs bearing down on him; next moment, the whole team was strangling and pulling at him so hard he nearly fell off his broom. 

Down below he could hear the roars of the Slytherins in the crowd. 

“WE WON! HAHA WE WON!” Cedric kept yelling. Evalyn kissed Harry; Cole had him in a grip so tight Harry felt as though his head would come off. 

In complete disarray, the team managed to make its way back to the ground. Harry got off his broom and looked up to see a gaggle of Slytherins sprinting onto the field. Before he knew it, he had been engulfed by the cheering crowd.

“POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!” they chanted. 

Harry saw Michael, who was trying to fit through the crowd of people to get to him. 

“You did it,” he beamed. “That Firebolt was made for you, Harry. And what you did to those Dementors…” 

“They didn’t affect me at all!” Harry said excitedly. “I didn’t feel a thing!” 

“That’s because…” said a voice behind Harry, making him jump. It was Professor Lupin, “they… weren’t real Demetors, Harry…” 

He led Harry out of the crowd until they were able to see the edge of the field. Draco was standing nearby a tangled mess of robes. Beneath those robes, lay Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Pike. 

Draco looked annoyed. “It was a genius plan,” he snapped. “Not my fault you’re a bunch of scaredy-cats.” 

Zabini was now doing a military-style crawl out of the robes, panting. Crabbe and Goyle were having a hard time getting up from the floor. 

“You gave your friends quite the fright,” Lupin said nonchalantly. 

“What were you doing?” Harry asked Draco, who had only just noticed them and went pale. 

“Let me guess,” Lupin said, with a tinge of amusement in his voice, “you thought that scaring the Ravenclaw Seeker would help Harry beat her?” 

Professor McGonagall had just pushed through the crowd and marched up behind them looking furious. 

“An unworthy trick!” she was shouting. “A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Ravenclaw Seeker! Detention for all five of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!”

“Five of us? What did I do?” Draco looked shocked. 

“Silence, Malfoy.” 

Dumbledore approached them, shaking his head. “Now, that was very unsporting of you,” he spoke directly to Draco. 

Draco feigned confusion. “What do you mean? I was up at the hoops, playing…” 

“Come now, Mr. Malfoy. It’s clear to all of us that you have orchestrated this ruse. I’m very disappointed; the Dementors are no laughing matter.” 

Harry felt disappointment wash over him; they had lost fifty points. What was the point of this diversion? Harry had the Firebolt, he could’ve beaten Cho, he didn’t need to cheat to win. 

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Dumbledore turned to him, as if reading his mind. “The Patronus charm that you’ve just performed was admirable. Twenty points to Slytherin for your heroism, wit and quick reaction.” 

“Professor Dumbledore,” McGonagall spoke, “I apologise for interrupting, but this is a very serious intrusion and well, just plain sabotage!” 

“I do not wish to argue with you, Professor,” Dumbledore said mildly, “everyone involved shall receive their detentions and their parents will be written to. For the meantime, you boys better go and enjoy your celebration with the rest of the Slytherins.” 

Apparently this was punishment enough for now; the four boys were left to their own devices, trying to extricate themselves from their robes. 

As they walked back to the castle, Michael didn’t seem to find it funny. “Fifty points?” he gasped, “I can’t believe you cheated like that…”

“Harry won back twenty,” Draco said, “besides, wasn’t it funny? Did you see Cho Chang’s face? She was terrified… if it wasn’t for my plan, she would have gotten to the snitch.” 

“Doesn’t seem very fair to me,” Michael crossed his arms. 

“I have you know that I was going to catch the snitch either way, thank you very much…” Harry sighed. “How did they manage to look like dementors anyway?” he looked back at the four boys who were still a little shaken, scrambling after them. 

“Zabini and Pike stood on Crabbe and Goyle’s shoulders,” Draco said. 

“That’s what you were whispering about?” Michael muttered. 

“Doesn’t matter, now. Thanks to me, Slytherin won. And now I got a detention to look forward to,” Draco huffed.

It felt as though they had already won the Quidditch Cup; the party went on all day. Draco had received a boat-load of sweets from his parents. Crabbe and Goyle were stuffing their faces as usual. Pansy Parkinson came to sit at Harry’s table.

“Congratulations on winning the match,” she said. 

“Thanks,” Harry opened up a chocolate frog. But he had completely missed catching it when Draco snapped, “what are you doing here?” 

Harry looked around for the frog, and deciding that his quest was futile, turned his card around instead. 

“I don’t see the point in fighting,” Pansy said. 

Draco scoffed, “oh really? Now that Harry has the Firebolt you’re suddenly besties?” 

“It’s alright,” Michael spoke, “why do we have to keep fighting? We’re in the same house…”

“Well, if she apologises,” Draco drawled, leaning back. 

“For what?” Pansy crossed her arms. 

Harry glanced up from his card. 

“Okay fine, I’m sorry for picking on you… there…” 

After a moment, Pansy noticed that Michael was reading that Russian book of Magical Creatures. 

“Cool, let’s see,” she came around the table, and Michael began showing her pages of moving illustrations of the most fascinating creatures. 

Soon enough it was bedtime. Harry, Draco and Michael went down to their dormitory, talking about the match. Draco was adamant that if it weren’t for him, they would have lost. Neither Harry nor Michael had the energy to argue with him, so they went to bed in silence. 

Harry had a very strange dream. He was walking through a forest, his Firebolt over his shoulder, following something silvery-white. It was winding its way through the trees ahead, and he could only catch glimpses of it between the leaves. Anxious to catch up with it, he sped up, but as he moved faster, so did his quarry. Harry broke into a run, and ahead he heard hooves gathering speed. Now he was running flat out, and ahead he could hear galloping. Then he turned a corner into a clearing and... 

“AHH! NO!” 

Harry woke as suddenly as though he’d been hit in the face. Disoriented, in the total darkness, he fumbled with his hangings, he could hear movements around him, and Josh’s voice from the other side of the room. 

“What’s going on?” 

Harry thought he heard the dormitory door slam. At last finding the divide in his curtains, he ripped them back, and at the same moment, Draco lit his lamp. 

Michael was sitting up in bed, the hangings torn from one side, a look of utmost terror on his face. He was as pale as the bedsheets. 

“What happened?” Draco was rubbing his eyes. 

“It- it was…” Michael looked like he found it hard to move. He was frozen. His cat, Cheshire, was hissing, his fur on end, doubling in size. 

“What?” Harry asked. 

Michael turned to look at him. “It was Sirius Black.” 


	10. The House Cup

“Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?” Draco said, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“No,” Michael muttered, “look, Cheshire saw him too…” 

“What did he do?” Zabini asked, coming over quickly, followed by Crabbe, Goyle and Pike. Theodore Nott peaked through his hangings on the bed next to Harry’s. 

“He slashed the curtain, see,” Michael said nervously, “h- he was going to kill me… and then he ran away…” 

They all scrambled out of bed; Harry reached the dormitory door first, and they sprinted up the staircase. A few of the girls had come up, pulling on dressing gowns and yawning. Boys, too, were reappearing. 

Harry looked around the Common Room frantically, but there was no sign of Black anywhere. At that moment, if he saw him, he was ready to kill. 

Draco came upstairs soon after, Michael hiding closely behind him. Crabbe and Goyle were cracking their knuckles. 

“What’s all that noise?” Cole De’Claire came up stairs. 

“Prefect… do your prefecting…” Theodore Nott spoke. He was tall and lanky, Harry hadn’t really taken note of him before; he usually spent his introverted time studying or reading. “Apparently Black tried to attack Munroe.” 

Cedric was now pushing through the crowd. “Is it true? Had my poor little brother been harassed by Sirius Black himself?” he shoved Draco out of the way, who looked extremely irritated, and threw his arms around Michael, sobbing. Harry could tell it was fake; some actor he was. 

“MY LITTLE BROTHER COULD HAVE DIED!”

“What’s… all… this… ruckus…” came a cold voice from the Common Room door. 

Everyone went silent. Cedric dropped his crying and turned around. 

It was Professor Snape. 

“Well?” Snape raised an eyebrow. 

“You see...” everyone suddenly broke into explanation. 

Cole threw his arms out, “be quiet, I’m the Prefect, I’ll do the talking! Anyway, according to little Munroe,” he was gesturing towards Michael, “Sirius Black appeared, slashing his bed curtain, trying to kill him.” 

Again, the room broke out into speculation and chatter. 

Harry heard things like, “why did Sirius Black come back?”

“Why did he target Munroe and not Potter?”

“Maybe he got the wrong bed…” 

“How did he get in though?” 

“Did someone give him the password?”

“I doubt that…”

“Silence!” Snape snapped, plunging the room into quiet stillness once more. “Now, it is beyond me how Sirius Black could’ve gotten the password…” 

“Maybe someone wrote it down and lost it?” Draco said, “after all, the password keeps changing every week…” 

“If that’s the case,” Professor Snape began, “if I find out who was stupid enough to go writing passwords and losing them, that person will be put on the train straight back home.” 

Harry swallowed. He couldn’t imagine who it would’ve been. That’s the sort of thing you’d expect of Neville Longbottom. But he wasn’t in Slytherin. 

“Munroe, follow me,” Snape said. 

Michael stepped forward nervously as everyone stared at him. He wasn’t used to, nor liked, that amount of attention. 

“Back to bed, now…” 

There was a pause, and everyone began shifting towards the stairs. Harry watched Michael leaving the Common Room after Snape. Draco nudged him, and they returned to their Dormitory. That night, not a single Slytherin could fall asleep. 

An hour later, Michael came back. Harry sat up and Draco came to sit next to him. 

“What’s happening?” Draco asked. “Did they find him?”

“No,” Michael muttered, “he escaped again. The Castle has been searched. I’m… I have never been this scared,” he said quietly, “I thought he was going to kill me…”

“It’s okay,” Draco said, “I’m sure he won’t come back again now that all the teachers are on guard.”

Michael looked down. Cheshire climbed up on his lap, brushing up against him. 

“I can’t believe he got in like that… without anyone noticing…” Harry quickly reached for his map. Why didn’t he think of looking before? Now that he scanned the whole Castle, there was no sign of Black’s name anywhere. 

The next day, everywhere they went they saw signs of tighter security; Professor Flitwick could be seen teaching the front doors to recognize a large picture of Sirius Black; Filch was suddenly bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse holes. A bunch of surly security trolls had been hired to guard the Dungeons. They paced the corridor in a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs. Harry couldn’t help noticing that the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor remained unguarded and unblocked. It seemed that Fred and George had been right in thinking that they; and now Harry, Draco, and Michael; were the only ones who knew about the hidden passageway within it. 

“D’you reckon we should tell someone?” Harry asked Draco.

“No” Draco said, “if he came in through Honeydukes he’d have to break into it first. If that was the case we’d know about it by now.”

Harry felt a sense of relief; if they boarded up the passage, he wouldn’t be able to go to Hogsmeade with his friends. 

Michael had become the most popular student of the school; everyone was rushing around him, asking him questions, and he was so overwhelmed that he went to hide in the out-of-order bathroom with Myrtle. Harry ended up hanging around with him, trying to ignore Moaning Myrtle and her newfound starstruck obsession with him. She kept saying things like, “I do hope you die soon…” and “you should spend more time here with poor, lonely Myrtle, Harry…” 

Draco tried the whole prospect of being there for his friend even though it was the run-down girls’ bathroom with a particularly hideous ghost, but after the first visit he had given up on it and made up excuses that he needed to study. 

“I think people have forgotten about it by now,” Harry said as he and Michael went to the bathroom after dinner.

“They haven’t, they keep staring at me,” Michael mumbled. 

“What… exactly happened?” Harry asked. “Like in full detail…”

“Well, I heard a loud ripping noise,” Michael began, “and then I woke up, and saw him. He was so big and scary, and held this massive knife over me. I panicked and screamed and then he ran away.”

“Why did he run…” Harry muttered. 

Why had Black, having got the wrong bed, not silenced Michael and proceeded to Harry? Black had proved twelve years ago that he didn’t mind murdering innocent people, and this time he had been facing a bunch of unarmed boys, most of whom were asleep.

“He must’ve known he’d struggle getting back out of the castle once I screamed and woken people up,” said Michael thoughtfully, “He’d’ve had to kill the whole house to get back out… then he would’ve bumped into the teachers…”

Nobody found out how exactly Black managed to get the password. The next day, Professor McGonagall was starting to get suspicious, saying that perhaps the Slytherins wanted to play a practical joke. But Professor Snape was dead serious in his conviction that Munroe told the truth. “That boy wouldn’t kill a flobberworm for Potions, he’s not the type to fabricate such a story. He had been frozen as if petrified in my office for about an hour…” 

“I agree with Severus,” Dumbledore spoke up, “I believe that boy saw Sirius Black. He is fortunate to be alive. Now, let’s worry about Black later, and enjoy breakfast.” 

Harry was eating his pancakes, whilst Draco ripped open a letter from his parents. 

“What are they saying?” Michael asked. 

“Father’s angry at me for that Quidditch thing. Though he did write at the bottom that it’s “quite smart, but stupid. Don’t do that again.””

Harry let out a short laugh. 

“Anything about Sirius Black?” Zabini leaned in. 

“No,” Draco put his letter away, “mind your own business.”

Hedwig came down to give Harry a letter too, to his great surprise. He stroked her feathers, and proceeded to open the envelope. 

“Dear Harry, Michael and Draco, How about having tea with me this afternoon ‘round six? I’ll come collect you from the castle. WAIT FOR ME IN THE ENTRANCE HALL; YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED OUT ON YOUR OWN. Cheers, Hagrid” 

“What does he want?” Draco spoke, putting down his own letters. 

“Wants to know about Black?” Harry wondered. 

So at six o’clock that afternoon, the three of them left the Dungeons, passed the security trolls at a run, and headed down to the entrance hall. Hagrid was already waiting for them. 

“Is everything okay, Hagrid?” said Michael.

“Heard about last night?” Draco spoke. 

“Ye, heard all abou’ it. I hope yer doin’ okay, Michael,” said Hagrid, petting his head with his large hand softly and opening the front doors and leading them outside. 

The first thing they saw on entering Hagrid’s cabin was Buckbeak, who was stretched out on top of Hagrid’s patchwork quilt, his enormous wings folded tight to his body, enjoying a large plate of dead ferrets. 

Averting his eyes from this unpleasant sight, Harry saw a gigantic, hairy brown suit and a very horrible yellow-and-orange tie hanging from the top of Hagrid’s wardrobe door. 

“What are they for, Hagrid?” said Harry. 

“Buckbeak’s case against the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures,” said Hagrid. “This Friday. Him an’ me’ll be goin’ down ter London together. I’ve booked two beds on the Knight Bus…” 

Harry felt a nasty pang of guilt. He had completely forgotten that Buckbeak’s trial was so near, and judging by the uneasy look on Draco’s face, he had too. They had also forgotten their promise about helping him prepare Buckbeak’s defense; the arrival of the Firebolt had driven it clean out of their minds. 

“We’ve went through your notes, Hagrid, I’m sure everything will go smoothly,” Michael said, but there was a tinge of nervousness in his voice. 

“I’m very grateful, don’ know if I could’ve done it without yer…” 

Harry and Draco both looked at Michael in surprise, who seemed to have noticed. “What? I wrote to Mari and she told me all she knows about all of this legal stuff and…”

“You never told us you went down to see Hagrid,” Draco spoke. 

“You two seemed so busy with Quidditch, I didn’t want to make you even more stressed…” 

“Hagrid, I’m really sorry we weren’t there to help,” Harry said quickly, guilt still twisting in his stomach. 

“It’s a’right.” Hagrid poured them tea and offered them a plate of Bath buns but they knew better than to accept; they had had too much experience with Hagrid’s cooking. “Michael’s help was more than I coul’ ‘ave ever hoped for… his sister, bless ‘er heart, went diggin’ on pas’ Disposal o’ Magical Creatures cases and gave ‘er advice. Works fer the Ministry, she does. Knows a lot ‘bout legal cases like mine.” 

“That’s very kind of her,” Harry said. He really did like Mari, she was the closest resemblance of a mother figure that he ever had. Maybe Mrs. Malfoy, too, but Harry didn’t know whether he could trust her or not. 

“Father did write back to me,” Draco said, “he’s refusing to back down. I tried to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but I can’t really make it known to him that I’m friends with a half giant gamekeeper; he’d go mad.” 

“I don’t blame yeh, I want ye ter know that,” Hagrid said solemnly. 

“Look, everything will be fine,” Michael spoke quickly, “so long as you stick to what we had practiced.” 

Harry nodded, but he wasn’t sure. Mr. Malfoy had a lot of influence in the Ministry of Magic. Would they really listen to Hagrid over him? He didn’t want his doubt to show, though, it’s not what Hagrid needed. 

“Anyway, ‘nough fer the sad stuff, congrats on winning the match.” 

Harry smiled a little, “thank you.” 

“I heard whacha did ter Cho Chang,” Hagrid looked at Draco strictly, who was now rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. 

“It’s not that big a deal, Harry got to practice his anti-dementor spell and all…” 

But Harry felt stupid. In that moment, he was sure that he had been able to block out the Dementors completely, that he was now immune to them. Turns out all he did was shock Draco’s friends, causing them to topple over each other in fright. 

They spent the rest of their visit discussing Slytherin’s improved chances for the Quidditch Cup. At nine o’clock, Hagrid walked them back up to the castle. 

A large group of people was bunched around the bulletin board when they returned to the common room. 

“Hogsmeade, next weekend!” said Pike excitedly, as Draco craned over the heads to read the new notice. 

“You coming?” he added quietly to Harry as they went to sit down. 

“Of course I’m coming,” Harry let show the smallest of smiles. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Michael whispered. “Black could be anywhere… and if you get caught…”

“Oh, stop worrying so much,” Draco said casually, “it’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, “I’m not going to let that traitor who robbed me of my family steal the only bit of fun away from me too.” 

Michael didn’t say anything, though he still looked unsure.

On Saturday morning, Harry packed his Invisibility Cloak and the Three Way Journal in his bag, slipped the Marauder’s Map into his pocket, and went down to breakfast with everyone else. As he walked out of the Great Hall with his friends to see them off, Hermione appeared behind him, her voice making him jump. “Harry…”

“What do you want, Granger?” Draco snarled. 

“Harry, are you planning to… sneak into Hogsmeade again?” she crossed her arms. 

“What? No…” Harry said quickly. 

“I’m going to tell Professor McGonagall. You know full well that Sirius Black is on the loose trying to kill you… you can’t go around breaking the rules-”

“Shut up, stupid Mudblood,” Draco hissed, “it’s none of your business, is it? Keep your ginormous teeth out of it.” 

“Yeah, keep out of it!” Zabini repeated, as the rest of Draco’s gang nodded. 

Hermione looked around, nervous. 

That’s when Ron caught up with her. “Oh, leave Harry alone,” he sighed, “let the man have some fun.” 

“Oh look who it is,” Draco smirked. “You should listen to your boyfriend, Granger. Keep that ugly nose of yours out of Potter’s business.” 

Crabbe and Goyle nodded, smirking. 

“Let’s go,” Ron tugged on Hermione’s coat, shaking his head, and they departed with the rest of the crowd. 

“What’s her problem anyway… I’m telling you, those Mudbloods think they’re better than everyone else… “I’m going to tell Professor McGonagall”” he mocked, following up with a jeer, “maybe we should find a way to get her expelled…” 

“No, let’s not do that,” Harry shook his head with a sigh. “Go ahead, let’s not waste anymore time. I’ll see you at Honeydukes.” 

With that, Harry set off. He hurried up to the third floor, slipping the Marauder’s Map out of his pocket as he went. Crouching behind the one-eyed witch, he smoothed it out. A tiny dot was moving in his direction. Harry squinted at it. The minuscule writing next to it read Severus Snape. 

Harry quickly pulled out his wand, muttered, “Dissendium!” and shoved his bag into the statue. But before he could get in himself, Snape appeared around the corner. 

“Potter…” he spoke, “what are you doing here?” 

Harry froze, trying to look as innocent as possible. 

“What a strange place to hang around…” Snape glanced around suspiciously, as if trying to catch him out on some sort of trick. 

“I was just passing by,” Harry said, “going to the Owlery.” 

“Is that so?” Snape raised an eyebrow, “you think it’s wise to wander around the Castle alone with Sirius Black on the loose, Potter?” 

Harry didn’t speak. He felt somewhat of a lump forming in his throat. 

“I suggest you head back to your Common Room before you find yourself in very serious trouble.” 

Harry set off without another word. As he turned the corner, he looked back. Snape was running one of his hands over the one-eyed witch’s head, examining it closely. 

Instead of going back to the Common Room, though, Harry hid behind a statue and consulted the map. Severus Snape was now heading back; he was nearing the corridor Harry was in. 

Harry held his breath, regretting that he hadn’t had his cloak with him on hand, as Snape’s dot passed his statue. 

He stopped. Harry closed his eyes, feeling his presence from the other side. A moment later, Snape’s footsteps could be heard again, leaving the corridor and heading down the marble steps. 

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief, going back to the One-eyed Witch. Once he was safely inside, he wrote “I’m coming, wait for me,” in his Three Way Journal and put it back into his bag.

When he had arrived, completely hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, he emerged into the sunlight outside Honeydukes and prodded Michael in the back. 

Michael jumped, turning quickly, his eyes wide. 

“It’s me,” Harry hissed. 

Michael looked a bit relieved, “god, you scared me. I still get jumpy after what… n- nevermind.” 

“Sorry,” Harry muttered. “Where’s Draco and the others?” 

“I think they went off to see the Shrieking Shack. I was just looking at the sweets, turned around and realized they had disappeared.” 

“Why’s he being a jerk for?” Harry muttered. Draco had been spending more time with the other boys from Slytherin, which he didn’t think anything of. Though he couldn’t believe he’d abandon his friend like that.

“It’s okay,” Michael said, “it’s not a big deal… anyway, follow me, I’ll show you around…” 

Harry, excited to see what Hogsmeade had to offer, followed Michael closely, still under his invisibility cloak, trying to match his friend’s footprints in the almost-melted snow as much as he could so that nobody would get suspicious. 

They went to the post office first; Michael pretended to be checking the price of an owl so that Harry could have a good look around. The owls sat hooting softly down at him, at least three hundred of them; from Great Grays right down to tiny little Scops owls (“Local Deliveries Only”), which were so small they could have sat in the palm of Harry’s hand. 

Then they visited Zonko’s, which was so packed with students Harry had to exercise great care not to tread on anyone and cause a panic. There were jokes and tricks to fulfill even Fred and George Weasley’s wildest dreams; Harry gave Michael whispered orders and passed him some gold from under the cloak. They left Zonko’s with his money bag considerably lighter than it had been on entering, but his pockets bulging with Dungbombs, Hiccup Sweets, Frog Spawn Soap, and a Nose-Biting Teacup apiece. Michael didn’t get anything, clearly it wasn’t to his taste.

Eventually they both decided to go up to the Shrieking Shack to see if Draco and the others were there. Michael hadn’t realized that Harry stopped following him as soon as he had emerged onto the clearing, spotting Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Pike and Zabini, staring off curiously towards the most haunted house in Britain. It stood a little way above the rest of the village, and even in daylight was slightly creepy, with its boarded windows and dank overgrown garden. 

“Even the ghosts avoid it,” said Draco matter-of-factly. “Want to bet ten Galleons that I can sneak up close enough to touch it?”

Crabbe and Goyle both looked shocked, shaking their heads. 

“Do it,” Zabini grinned. 

Draco laughed, and spotted Michael, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, there you are… thought we’d lost you...”

Michael approached them, trying not to trip through the mud. 

“Look who else is here,” Draco grinned. Michael turned around, expecting to see Harry without his cloak; instead, he saw Ron and Hermione. 

“What are you doing here? Shopping for your dream home?” Draco sniggered along with his friends. “It’s probably a luxury compared to your house, Weasley. I heard your family… er… sleeps in one room?” 

The four of his friends burst into laughter. Michael buried half his face in his scarf, looking around for any sign of Harry. 

Harry, on the other hand, had a bright idea. He scooped up a bit of snow that was laying nearby a muddy puddle, and threw it at Draco. 

It hit him on his shoulder. He jumped, his smirk wiped clean off his face. 

“What was that?” 

Michael’s eyes widened. So that’s what Harry was up to… 

Ron and Hermione looked just as mortified as the Slytherins. 

SPLAT! 

Came another snow ball. Draco tried to dodge it but failed. 

Crabbe and Goyle were now running around, looking for the culprit, as Pike rounded on Ron and Hermione threateningly, thinking they had something to do with this. 

Once Draco hid behind Michael, the snowballs were targeting Crabbe, Goyle, Pike and Zabini instead. Ron and Hermione rushed out of the way, shielding their heads. 

SPLATTER! 

Goyle hopped furiously on the spot, trying to rub snow out of his small, dull eyes.

“It came from over there!” said Draco, staring at a spot some six feet to the left of Harry. 

Crabbe blundered forward, his long arms outstretched like a zombie. Harry dodged around him, picked up another snowball, and lobbed it at Crabbe’s back. 

Harry doubled up with silent laughter as Crabbe did a kind of pirouette in midair, trying to see who had thrown it. He was rounding on Ron now, but he had stumbled, and his huge, flat foot caught the hem of Harry’s cloak. Harry felt a great tug, then the cloak slid off his face. 

Ron and Hermione looked at him with pure terror. 

Draco fell on his back in a heap of snow, panting in exertion. 

Michael was trying to hold back a laugh. 

“Come on,” Hermione said quickly, grabbing Ron’s arm and running back towards the path away from them.

Harry let his cloak fall like his spirits; Hermione saw him. Would she really tell Professor McGonagall on him? 

“That wasn’t funny!” Draco yelled, as Michael tried to help him up again. 

Crabbe and Goyle were looking exhausted, to say that this was exercise for them would be an understatement. 

“What on earth was that for?” Draco sighed, brushing the remainder of snow off.

“That’s for leaving Michael behind,” Harry said, “and not waiting for me like you said you would.” 

Draco scowled, “whatever… Granger saw you… I bet she’s going to go and snitch on you now, so well done. Well deserved…” 

Draco was not in a good mood. He didn’t speak to Harry as they headed back to the High Street. Zabini thought it was a funny joke, though, and now was questioning Harry about his cloak. 

“I didn’t leave you by the way,” Draco told Michael, “I went looking for you but you weren’t there… thought maybe you wanted to go off by yourself like you always do…”

“It’s fine, I’m not angry or anything,” Michael said. 

Harry couldn’t stop worrying, though, would anyone believe Ron and Hermione? Surely Dumbledore would; he knew Harry had the cloak. That’s the last thing he wanted, for him to think that Harry used the cloak that he handed down to him for rule-breaking. 

Back into Honeydukes, back down the cellar steps, across the stone floor, through the trapdoor… Harry pulled off the cloak, tucked it under his arm, and ran, flat out, along the passage… Ron and Hermione would get back first… how long would it take them to find a teacher? Panting, a sharp pain in his side, Harry didn’t slow down until he reached the stone slide. He would have to leave the cloak where it was, it was too much of a giveaway in case they had tipped off a teacher... he hid it in a shadowy corner, then started to climb, fast as he could, his sweaty hands slipping on the sides of the chute. He reached the inside of the witch’s hump, tapped it with his wand, stuck his head through, and hoisted himself out; the hump closed, and just as Harry jumped out from behind the statue, he heard quick footsteps approaching. 

It was Snape. He approached Harry at a swift walk, his black robes swishing, then stopped in front of him. 

“So,” he said. 

There was a look of suppressed triumph about him. Harry tried to look innocent, all too aware of his sweaty face and his muddy hands, which he quickly hid in his pockets. 

“Come with me, Potter,” said Snape. Harry followed him downstairs, trying to wipe his hands clean on the inside of his robes without Snape noticing. They walked down the stairs to the dungeons and then into Snape’s office. 

Snape had acquired a few more slimy horrible things in jars since the last time he was there, all standing on shelves behind his desk, glinting in the firelight and adding to the threatening atmosphere. 

“Sit,” said Snape. Harry sat. Snape, however, remained, standing. 

“Professor McGonagall had just informed me of something. Apparently Granger came to see her with a strange story, Potter,” said Snape.

Harry didn’t say anything. 

“According to Granger, she and Weasley visited the Shrieking Shack and out of nowhere, Mr. Malfoy was hit with a snowball. She says that she caught a glimpse of your head flying mid-air. How do you explain this, Potter?”

Harry tried to look as confused as he possibly could. “My head, flying mid-air? How is that possible, Professor?” 

“That’s exactly what I said to Professor McGonagall, but she seems very adamant that Granger wouldn’t lie.” 

“Why would my head be throwing snowballs at Draco?” Harry spoke, making it sound as ridiculous as possible. “Maybe she’s taking on too many classes…” 

Snape surveyed Harry, as if half-believing him, half not wanting to. 

“Maybe so… still, your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade.”

“I know that,” said Harry, striving to keep his face free of guilt or fear. “It sounds like Hermione was having hallucinations from all that studying...” 

“And what if she wasn’t having hallucinations?” Snape sounded more stern, and he bent down, a hand on each arm of Harry’s chair, so that their faces were a foot apart. “If your head was in Hogsmeade, so was the rest of you.” 

“I’ve been down in the Dungeons,” said Harry. “Like you told me to...” 

“Can anyone confirm that?” 

Harry didn’t say anything. Snape’s thin mouth curled into a horrible smile. 

“So,” he said, straightening up again. “Everyone from the Minister of Magic downward has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But famous Harry Potter is a law unto himself. Let the ordinary people worry about his safety! Famous Harry Potter goes where he wants to, with no thought for the consequences.” 

“Do you really believe what Hermione Granger-”

“Silence!” Snape snapped. “How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter,” His eyes were glinting. “He too was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch field made him think he was a cut above the rest of us too. Strutting around the place with his friends and admirers… The resemblance between you is uncanny.” 

“My dad didn’t strut,” said Harry, before he could stop himself. “And neither do I.” 

“Your father didn’t set much store by rules either,” Snape went on, pressing his advantage, his thin face full of malice. “Rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup-winners. His head was so swollen...” 

“SHUT UP!” 

Harry was suddenly on his feet. Rage such as he had not felt since his last night in Privet Drive was coursing through him. He didn’t care that Snape’s face had gone rigid, the black eyes flashing dangerously. 

“What did you say to me, Potter?” 

“I told you to shut up about my dad!” Harry yelled. “I know the truth, all right? He saved your life! Dumbledore told me! You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for my dad!”

Snape’s sallow skin had gone the color of sour milk. 

“And did the headmaster tell you the circumstances in which your father saved my life?” he whispered. “Or did he consider the details too unpleasant for precious Potter’s delicate ears?” 

Harry bit his lip. He didn’t know what had happened and didn’t want to admit it, but Snape seemed to have guessed the truth. 

“I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter,” he said, a terrible grin twisting his face. “Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you; your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn’t got cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts.” 

Snape’s uneven, yellowish teeth were bared. 

“Turn out your pockets, Potter!” he spat suddenly. 

Harry didn’t move. There was a pounding in his ears. Although he knew Professor Snape disliked him, he never went this far before...

“Turn out your pockets, or we go straight to the headmaster! Pull them out, Potter!” 

Cold with dread, Harry slowly pulled out the bag of Zonko’s tricks and the Marauder’s Map. Snape picked up the Zonko’s bag. 

“Draco got them for me,” Harry said quickly, “he got them for me from last time.” 

“Indeed? And you’ve been carrying them around ever since? How very touching… and what is this?” Snape had picked up the map. 

Harry tried with all his might to keep his face impassive. 

“Spare bit of parchment,” he said with a shrug. 

Snape turned it over, his eyes on Harry. 

“Surely you don’t need such a very old piece of parchment?” he said. “Why don’t I just... throw this away?” 

His hand moved toward the fire. 

“No!” Harry said quickly. 

“So!” said Snape, his long nostrils quivering. “Is this another treasured gift from Mr. Malfoy? Or is it... something else? A letter, perhaps, written in invisible ink? Or... instructions to get your head into Hogsmeade without passing the Dementors?” 

Harry blinked. Snape’s eyes gleamed. 

“Let me see, let me see…” he muttered, taking out his wand and smoothing the map out on his desk. 

“Reveal your secret!” he said, touching the wand to the parchment. Nothing happened. 

Harry clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. 

“Show yourself!” Snape said, tapping the map sharply. It stayed blank. 

Harry was taking deep, calming breaths. 

“Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to yield the information you conceal!” Snape said, hitting the map with his wand. 

As though an invisible hand were writing upon it, words appeared on the smooth surface of the map. 

“Mooney presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people’s business.” 

Snape froze. 

Harry stared, dumbstruck, at the message. But the map didn’t stop there. More writing was appearing beneath the first. 

“Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Mooney and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git.” 

It would have been very funny if the situation hadn’t been so serious. And there was more… 

“Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor.” 

Harry closed his eyes in horror. When he’d opened them, the map had had its last word. 

“Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball.”

Harry waited for the blow to fall. 

“So…” said Snape softly. “We’ll see about this…” 

He strode across to his fire, seized a fistful of glittering powder from a jar on the fireplace, and threw it into the flames. 

“Lupin!” Snape called into the fire. “I want a word!” 

Utterly bewildered, Harry stared at the fire. A large shape had appeared in it, revolving very fast. Seconds later, Professor Lupin was clambering out of the fireplace, brushing ash off his shabby robes. 

“You called, Severus?” said Lupin mildly. 

“I certainly did,” said Snape, his face contorted with fury as he strode back to his desk. “I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this.” 

Snape pointed at the parchment, on which the words of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs were still shining. 

An odd, closed expression appeared on Lupin’s face. 

“Well?” said Snape. 

Lupin continued to stare at the map. Harry had the impression that Lupin was doing some very quick thinking. 

“Well?” said Snape again. “This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?” 

Lupin looked up and, by the merest half-glance in Harry’s direction, warned him not to interrupt. 

“Full of Dark Magic?” he repeated mildly. “Do you really think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who reads it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got it from a joke shop...” 

“Indeed?” said Snape. His jaw had gone rigid with anger. “You think a joke shop could supply him with such a thing? You don’t think it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?” 

Harry didn’t understand what Snape was talking about. Nor, apparently, did Lupin. 

“You mean, by Mr. Wormtail or one of these people?” he said. “Harry, do you know any of these men?” 

“No,” said Harry quickly. 

“You see, Severus?” said Lupin, turning back to Snape. “It looks like a Zonko product to me...” 

Right on cue, Draco came sauntering into the office, followed by Michael. 

“Excuse me, Professor,” Draco spoke, “Granger’s been spreading lies. Stupid know-it-all… trying to get Harry expelled I expect…” 

“Is that so?” Professor Snape looked at him. 

Draco’s eyes darted to the map in Lupin’s hand. “I got that for Harry last time we went, from Zonko’s.” 

“Well!” said Lupin, clapping his hands together and looking around cheerfully. “That seems to clear that up! Severus, I’ll take this back, shall I?” 

He folded the map and tucked it inside his robes. 

“Harry, Draco, Michael, come with me. I need a word about my vampire essay, excuse us, Severus...” 

Harry didn’t dare look at Snape as they left his office. They walked all the way back into the entrance hall before speaking. 

Then Harry turned to Lupin. “Professor, I...” 

“I don’t want to hear explanations,” said Lupin shortly. He glanced around the empty entrance hall and lowered his voice. “I happen to know that this map was confiscated by Mr. Filch many years ago. Yes, I know it’s a map,” he said as Harry, Draco and Michael looked amazed. “I don’t want to know how it fell into your possession. I am, however, astounded that you didn’t hand it in. Particularly after what happened the last time a student left information about the castle lying around. And I can’t let you have it back, Harry.” 

Harry had expected that, and was too keen for explanations to protest. 

“Why did Snape think I’d got it from the manufacturers?” 

“Because…” Lupin hesitated, “because these mapmakers would have wanted to lure you out of school. They’d think it extremely entertaining.” 

“Do you know them?” said Harry, impressed. 

“We’ve met,” he said shortly. He was looking at Harry more seriously than ever before. 

“Don’t expect me to cover up for you again, Harry. I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously. But I would have thought that what you have heard when the Dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them... gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.” 

He walked away, leaving Harry feeling worse by far than he had at any point in Snape’s office. Slowly, the three of them mounted the marble staircase. As Harry passed the one-eyed witch, he remembered the Invisibility Cloak; it was still down there, but he didn’t dare go and get it. 

“I told you it was a bad idea,” Michael muttered. “Lupin’s right, it was stupid, we shouldn’t’ve done it-” He broke off; they reached the corridor where the security trolls were pacing, and Hermione was walking toward them. 

Draco practically hissed at her like a giant snake, causing her to back away a few paces. “Think you’re so bloody clever, Granger?” he was approaching her threateningly. Neither Harry nor Michael did anything to stop him. Harry felt that his intimidations were well deserved this time. 

“I did it for Harry, what if Black found him…” Hermione was talking quickly, trying to stand her ground but she was clearly terrified. 

“And what if Harry got expelled?” Draco was now so close to her, his eyes piercing down at her callously. “You filthy little Mudblood, you’ll regret this. I promise.” 

“Harry, Michael,” came a voice behind them. It was Hagrid. 

Draco turned his head briskly to look at him. His face was glistening with tears. 

“Buckbeak… he’s… he’s goin’ ter be executed…” 

Draco let Hermione off just this once; but only because they were following Hagrid back to his hut so he could share what had happened. 

“The execution day’s fixed,” Hagrid spoke, trying to compose himself as he fiddled with his ugly tie. “Buckbeak’s allowed ter stay at Hogwarts fer now, they’ll be comin’ down ter do it…” he sniffled. “Beaky enjoyed London…”

“I’m sorry, Hagrid,” Harry spoke. 

Michael looked like he was about to cry, too. When they saw Buckbeak on his patchwork quilt, he bowed sufficiently and approached him, and hugged him around his giant, feathery neck. 

“I can’t believe they’re doing this,” Harry said. “It’s not fair… they should’ve let Draco speak too.”

“I’m ‘fraid they don’ care ‘bout what an underage wizar’ has ter say,” Hagrid was trying to calm down, his hands shaking as he put water in the pot. 

“Maybe it’s a bad idea for you to get all attached,” Harry told Michael, who was now crying into Buckbeak’s feathers. 

“I’m sorry,” Draco muttered. “Can’t believe I was so stupid…” 

Harry was surprised to hear him say this; had his remorse finally got to him? 

“I was the stupid one,” Hagrid wept, “s’all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin’ there in black robes an’ I kep’ droppin’ me notes and forgettin’ all them dates yeh sister looked up fer me, Michael. An’ then Lucius Malfoy stood up an’ said his bit, and the Committee jus’ did exac’ly what he told ‘em…” 

“There’s still the appeal,” Draco said. “Isn’t there?”

“S’no good,” Hagrid was shaking his head, “yer father’s got them all in ‘is pocket.” 

“I’ll try to write to him again… but he won’t see reason,” Draco spoke. “He’s questioning why I’m trying to defend you now. If he found out what I was up to…” 

“It’s a’right,” Hagrid wiped his eyes with a pillow-case sized handkerchief. “I don’ blame yer.” 

As Hagrid lead them back to the Castle, they saw Ron jumping onto the grass nearby the path to the entrance. 

“What’s Weasel doing?” Draco said contemptuously. “Training for the Gryffindor team?” 

“COME! HERE!” Ron bellowed. 

“Or did he mistake the mud for his stupid ugly girlfriend? Wouldn’t blame him, the resemblance is striking.” 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as they got closer. They saw Ron lying there, holding a flailing rat with two hands. 

“Scabbers! Stay put!” Ron yelled. 

“He’s alive?” Harry said, shocked. 

“Yes, can you believe it?” Ron sighed, getting back up. “I. Said. Stay. Put.” 

“I’ll leave yer here,” Hagrid said as they approached the entrance and opened the doors. 

They bid goodbye to Hagrid, and made their way up the marble steps. 

“I heard what Hermione did, didn’t think she’d actually do it, mind you,” Ron said. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No, luckily,” Harry spoke, shaking his head. “Can’t believe she snitched, though…” 

“Yeah, I can’t either,” Ron admitted. “I tried talking sense into her but she stormed off.” 

On Monday morning, lessons resumed as always. They went to Charms first, and learned a handy little spell; the Cheering Charm. 

“Maybe we could use it on Hagrid,” Draco said, watching Crabbe and Goyle staring around with delight with a smirk on his face. “Or maybe Michael needs it more…” he elbowed his friend, who was doodling mindlessly on his spare bit of parchment. 

Michael looked up quickly, realizing he had drifted off into his own world again. 

Next, they had Potions. Professor Snape had completely forgotten about Neville; he was now finding any excuses he could to pick on Harry. 

“Your draft is too thick, probably like your brain…” his lips curled as he ladled from his cauldron and let the potion dribble back down so he could see. 

To Harry, it looked the same as Draco’s did, but Professor Snape had just praised his a minute ago. 

“Where’s Granger?” Draco spoke. “She’s supposed to be sitting on our table.”

“Why, do you miss her?” Harry let out a soft snort of a laugh, though he was glad she was absent. He didn’t think he wanted to see her after what she had done. 

“No,” Draco snarled, “are you kidding? Good riddance. Maybe she finally got expelled for prodding her nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

This wasn’t the last time Hermione was mentioned, either. In Care of Magical Creatures, if Harry didn’t know better, he’d say Draco was starting to get worried. 

“Can you believe she’s skipping classes?” he remarked to Crabbe, who shook his head quickly. “Granger, the teacher’s pet, skipping classes…”

“I’m not skipping classes!” Hermione snapped. 

Wait. 

Hermione? 

Harry turned around briskly; where did she come from?

Draco almost fell straight into his Monster Book of Monsters’ claws. 

Ron approached her quickly, “where were you? Blimey, Hermione. You’ve missed like what… three classes?” 

“I know, I know,” Hermione looked distraught, “I can’t believe it… I fell asleep! I was studying and I fell asleep! I feel so stupid…” 

The two of them walked off to where Ron was studying. 

“You did see that, didn’t you? That Mudblood appeared out of nowhere… how do you explain that?”

“I don’t care,” Harry said, snapping his book shut. “Forget about her.” 

During Divination, is when things got a little bit out of hand. 

“Good day to you!” said the familiar, misty voice, and Professor Trelawney made her usual dramatic entrance out of the shadows. 

Parvati and Lavender quivered with excitement, their faces lit by the milky glow of their crystal ball. 

“I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned,” said Professor Trelawney, sitting with her back to the fire and gazing around. “The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice.” 

Hermione snorted. “Well, honestly… ‘the fates have informed her’. Who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!” she said, not troubling to keep her voice low. 

Harry and Draco both glanced up at her irritably. Ron was holding back his laughter. 

Trelawney continued, however, as though she had not heard her. 

“Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art,” she said dreamily. “I do not expect any of you to See when first you peer into the Orb’s infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes...” 

Draco smirked, elbowing Michael, who looked rather interested. 

“...So as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will see before the end of the class.” 

And so they began. 

Harry, at least, felt extremely foolish, staring blankly at the crystal ball, trying to keep his mind empty when thoughts such as “this is stupid” kept drifting across it. It didn’t help that Ron kept breaking into silent giggles and Hermione kept tutting behind them. 

“Quiet, Weasley, we’re trying to see…” Draco whispered. 

“Anything there yet?” Harry asked Draco and Michael after a quarter of an hour’s quiet crystal gazing. 

“I think I can see Granger’s stupid face… wait it’s just her reflection” Draco sniggered. 

“Professor Trelawney weren’t wrong about your romance,” Michael raised his eyebrows, as if waiting for him to agree. 

Draco let out a noise loud enough to earn a sharp “shush,” from Professor Trelawney. 

Harry focused; all he could see was white mist. Little dots were fuzzing about, though he reckoned it had more to do with his vision from staring so intently than the actual ball itself. 

“I think I can see something,” Michael muttered softly, but was interrupted almost immediately.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” said Hermione loudly. “This is ridiculous. I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms!”

“Then jog on?” Draco said in mock suggestion. 

She rolled her eyes, as Professor Trelawney approached their tables cautiously, as if Hermione’s aura was deadly. 

“I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don’t remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Then…

“Fine!” said Hermione suddenly, getting up and cramming Unfogging the Future back into her bag. 

“Fine!” she repeated, swinging the bag over her shoulder and almost knocking Ron off his chair. “I give up! I’m leaving!” 

And to the whole class’s amazement, Hermione strode over to the trapdoor, kicked it open, and climbed down the ladder out of sight. It took a few minutes for the class to settle down again. 

Professor Trelawney turned abruptly from their tables, breathing rather heavily as she tugged her gauzy shawl more closely to her. 

“Ooooo!” said Lavender suddenly, making everyone start. “Ooooo, Professor Trelawney, I’ve just remembered! You saw her leaving, didn’t you? Didn’t you, Professor? “Around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever!” You said it ages ago, Professor!” 

Professor Trelawney gave her a dewy smile. 

“Yes, my dear, I did indeed know that Miss Granger would be leaving us. One hopes, however, that one might have mistaken the Signs… The Inner Eye can be a burden, you know…” 

Lavender and Parvati looked deeply impressed, and moved over so that Professor Trelawney could join their table instead. 

Harry looked completely unbothered; at this point he couldn’t care less about Hermione and her strange behaviour. 

Draco, on the other hand, was invested. 

“What’s up with your crazy girlfriend, Weasley?” he drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Apparating all over the place, acting all irrational…” 

“Keep out of her business, will you? And she’s not my girlfriend,” Ron scowled. 

Michael was now squinting at the crystal ball. Whatever he had seen was now long gone. 

* * *

The Easter holidays were not exactly relaxing. The third years had never had so much homework. Crabbe and Goyle were struggling more than anyone, resorting to copying everything Draco wrote as usual, and Harry and Michael were having organised study nights in the Common Room together, getting a bunch of sweets and working together to make it as enjoyable as possible. 

But nobody had as much to do as Hermione Granger. Even without Divination, she was taking more subjects than anybody else. She was usually first to arrive at the library each morning; she had shadows like Lupin’s under her eyes, and seemed constantly close to tears. 

Harry was reading a book about Vampires to help with his assignment. Though Draco didn’t seem to have the patience or concentration for studying this morning, so he decided to make fun of a particularly chubby first year Hufflepuff with a face-full of freckles. 

“Leave him be,” Michael was shaking his head, “let the boy study.” 

“Why d’you always have to ruin the fun?”

“Why is bullying first years so fun to you?” 

“Fine I’ll bully second years…” Draco stretched out in his chair; though it didn’t take him long to find his next target. 

“Oi, Granger,” he called. 

Hermione looked even more disgruntled this morning; it was clear her studies took priority over her taming her bushy hair. When she heard him, she tried her best to ignore him. 

But Draco had the brightest of ideas. He sauntered over to her desk and loomed over her. “Impressive, that little stunt you pulled in Divination. Don’t know why you bother, if you can’t do something as easy as reading the future, maybe you’re not a real witch after all.” 

Hermione stood up and slammed her hands down so suddenly, that everyone in the library stopped what they were doing to watch. 

“Why can’t you leave me alone? Fine, I’m sorry for telling Professor McGonagall about Harry. Sorry for worrying. But right now, I’m very busy… so go away!” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Granger… you should have a little more respect for your superiors.” 

Hermione crossed her arms, amazement on her face, “superiors? I have higher grades than you, Malfoy, and you know it…” 

Ron had appeared from behind a bookshelf. “Hermione…”

But Hermione went on, “why, instead of talking about how much better you are than me, can’t you instead use that time to study and actually prove it?” 

“I don’t need to prove anything; I’m not a Mudblood like you.”

Nobody saw it coming. It happened so fast, that Hermione was out of the door before anyone had registered what had happened. 

Draco was doubled down, holding his nose, whimpering, “she broke it… she broke my… she broke my nose…”

Harry dropped his quill. 

Hermione had just punched Draco. 

Ron was nodding; he was impressed. Crabbe and Goyle were now pulling back their sleeves, ready to go after her, but Michael stopped them. 

“Stupid Mudblood… just wait till my father… oh god… my face…” 

Harry and Michael came either side of him and helped him up; they were used to him being dramatic like this, so they didn’t worry too much. Though even Harry was impressed by Hermione. First a Hippogriff, now a muggle-born. When would Draco finally learn his lesson?

“Let’s go to Madam Pomfrey,” Michael nodded at Harry. “She’ll fix him up quickly.” 

“Shame they can’t execute Mudbloods,” Draco whimpered as they helped him down the corridor. “She’s crazy… she’s out of her mind…”

Neither Harry or Michael felt like saying that it was perhaps well deserved. 

Madam Pomfrey was shaking her head in disbelief as they sat him down on a bed. 

“She punched me! Granger punched me!” Draco whined. 

“Oh goodness, what did you do this time?” Madam Pomfrey said, as if she had already guessed how it went down. 

Once his nose was back to normal, they back to the Slytherin Common Room. 

* * *

Michael had soon taken over responsibility for Buckbeak’s appeal. When he wasn’t doing his own work, he was poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality.

Harry and Draco, meanwhile, had to fit in their homework around Quidditch practice every day, not to mention endless discussions of tactics with Cedric. The Slytherin-Hufflepuff match would take place on the first Saturday after the Easter holidays. Hufflepuff was leading the tournament by exactly two hundred points. This meant that they needed to win the match by more than that amount to win the Cup. It also meant that the burden of winning fell largely on Harry, because capturing the Snitch was worth one hundred and fifty points. 

“This match is very important!” Cedric exclaimed. “Not just because of the points; we need to show that thief of a Seeker that he can’t go around stealing people’s victories too. Hufflepuff had beaten every house, they’re not about to beat ours. 

“So remember, Potter, you must catch the snitch only if we’re more than fifty points up” he told Harry for the sixth time. “Only if we’re more than fifty points up, remember, or we win the match but lose the Cup. You’ve got that, Haven’t you? You must catch the Snitch only if we’re-” 

“I KNOW, CEDRIC!” Harry yelled. 

The whole Slytherin house was pumped for their final match. Harry had never seen the Common Room so noisy and packed, and was caught off guard when he entered; people were shoving him around rather aggressively, punching his arm and throwing theirs around his neck. “You better win this one, Potter!” 

“Don’t let us down, Potter!” 

The only place where Harry, Draco and Michael could concentrate on their homework was the library, since Madam Pince made sure everyone remained silent. Draco hadn’t so much as looked at Hermione, who was on a table nearby, her head buried in a large textbook. Harry noticed that Ron wasn’t really hanging out with her as much as he used to either, her books seemed to have swallowed her whole; he couldn’t help feeling a little bad for her. 

“This test is impossible,” Draco muttered, flicking through his Arithmancy book. 

It took about ten minutes for them to realize that Michael was fast asleep on his copy of Unfogging the Future. 

“Maybe he’s having a prophetic dream,” Harry suggested, which made both him and Draco snigger. 

As the Quidditch match approached, they found it almost impossible to concentrate on their homework, even at the library. Harry kept going through different scenarios in his head, and what he would do for every single little set back he could think of. Draco was polishing his broom in the Common Room, as Cedric went up to every player individually to go through their plan of action again. 

Harry was sighing all throughout his talk of making sure to wait until they scored fifty points up before catching the snitch. Draco earned himself another lecture about paying attention to the Quaffle instead of what’s going on with the Seekers and the Snitch. 

Harry slept badly the night before their match. He had a dream that he had overslept, and Cedric slapped him awake, yelling at him that they had to use Goyle instead. Next moment, he was on the Quidditch pitch, and the Hufflepuff team arrived on winged unicorns. Sparkles filled the air, clouding Harry’s glasses; he couldn’t see. He heard Cedric Diggory fly past him, shouting, “Alright, Harry?” 

And then Cedric Munroe yelling: “WHERE IS YOUR BROOM POTTER?” 

Harry realised that he had forgotten it; he was flying mid-air. 

With a gut-wrenching yell, he fell, and woke up, sweating profusely. 

“Harry, are you okay?”

It was Michael. He must’ve heard Harry scream and got up to check if he was okay. 

“What’s going on, Sirius Black?” Zabini peeked from between his curtains. 

“No, bad dream,” Harry shook his head. 

Harry and the rest of the Slytherin team entered the Great Hall the next day to enormous applause. Harry couldn’t help grinning broadly as he saw that the Slytherins were cheering and chanting for them. The other three houses were clapping for the Hufflepuffs, probably. The Slytherin table hissed loudly at them as they passed. Cedric spent the whole of breakfast going through their plan for the billionth time in a hushed voice so nobody could overhear. Then he hurried them off to the field before anyone else had finished, so they could get an idea of the conditions. 

As they left the Great Hall, the Slytherins roared at them with encouragement. 

It made Harry feel a bit better; he felt alive and ready like he did before any of their matches; they were going to win. 

“Good luck, Cedric!” called Cho. 

Both Cedrics looked back, but it was clear that she was talking to the Hufflepuff Captain. Cedric Munroe looked mildly irritated. 

None of them spoke as they changed into their emerald robes in the Slytherin locker room. Harry wondered if they were feeling like he was: as though he’d eaten something extremely wriggly for breakfast. In what seemed like no time at all, Cedric was saying, “Okay, it’s time to enter stage!”

They walked out onto the field to a tidal wave of noise. A quarter of the stadium was wearing green, screaming about as loud as the other three quarters of yellow-robed students. Slytherins had been the only ones chanting for Slytherin, as always, but despite the fact that none of the other houses cheered for them, some students held up signs saying “GO POTTER!” 

Harry was going to prove to them that Slytherins deserved their victory. 

“Here comes the Slytherin team! Lead by Cedric Munroe; we have, Harry Potter and his beautiful, awe-striking Firebol-”

“JORDAN!” 

“Sorry Professor… Harry Potter, Cole De’Claire, Evalyn De’Claire, Victoria Meyrose, Raphael Volkov and Draco Malfoy…” 

Once the Slytherin team reached the middle, Hufflepuffs entered the field. The crowd went wild. There were signs saying “GO CEDRIC DIGGORY!” and “WE STAND WITH THE BETTER CEDRIC,” which Cedric Munroe figured was about him. (No one said anything.) 

“HERE COMES THE HUFFLEPUFFS! CEDRIC DIGGORY, the more superior of the two if you ask me, IS LOOKING FRESH AND READY TO TAKE THE MATCH FROM THEIR HANDS!” 

“Jordan, could you be even more biased?” Professor McGonagall spoke, no doubt shaking her head.

Slytherins were booing madly from their stands, though Harry couldn’t disagree. If he had the choice between two Cedrics, it would be the Hufflepuff Captain without a shadow of a doubt. 

“Captains, shake hands!” said Madam Hooch. 

Both Cedrics approached each other and grasped each other’s hand; it looked as though the Slytherin Cedric was trying to break the other’s fingers. 

“Mount your brooms!” said Madam Hooch. “Three… two… one…” 

The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air. Harry felt his hair fly back off his forehead; his nerves left him in the thrill of the flight; he glanced around, saw that Cedric Diggory was already on it, and sped off in search of the Snitch. 

“And it’s Slytherin in possession, Cedric Munroe of Slytherin with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Hufflepuff goal posts. Quaffle intercepted by Tamsin Applebee... WHAM! Evalyn De’Claire hits the bludger, Applebee drops the Quaffle, it’s caught by... Meyrose. What a shame… I mean… sorry Professor… that was a nice swerve around Preece. Rickett sends the bludger straight towards her; she ducks! Ahh! And scores! Ten-Zero to Slytherin!” 

The Slytherins went wild in their stand, but the rest of the houses leaned in in anticipation. 

That’s when Cole flew right into Heidi Macavoy, almost toppling her off her broom. 

The crowd beneath them booed. 

“What? It was an accident…” Cole yelled. 

They heard Madam Hooch’s whistle. “Penalty shot to Hufflepuff!”

“What?” Cole looked amazed. Cedric Munroe was somewhere nearby, swearing. 

Madam hooch blew her whistle once more, and Macavoy took her shot towards the Slytherin hoops; but Draco intercepted and caught the Quaffle. 

“YES MALFOY!” Cedric Munroe yelled, “HA, SEE, WE GOT THE BEST, DIGGORY!”

Cedric Diggory was flying past him, Harry was relieved that he still looked like he couldn’t find the snitch; he had to wait till they were fifty points up. 

“Hufflepuff in possession, no, Slytherin in possession... it’s Raphael Volkov; and no, he’s not related to Ivan Volkov, the Bulgarian… sorry… sorry Professor… Volkov with the Quaffle, he’s streaking up the field…” 

And there was another score. 

Slytherins went wild once again. 

Harry felt a huge jolt of excitement. He had seen the Snitch; it was shimmering at the foot of one of the Hufflepuff goal posts... but he mustn’t catch it yet… but what if Cedric Diggory saw it?

Faking a look of sudden concentration, Harry pulled his Firebolt around and sped off toward the Slytherin end... it worked. Cedric Diggory went haring after him, clearly thinking Harry had seen the Snitch there… 

WHOOSH. 

One of the Bludgers came streaking past Harry’s right ear, hit by the Hufflepuff Beater, O’Flaherty. Then again… 

WHOOSH. 

Cole De’Claire had beaten it back at her, enraged. 

Harry realized that Cole and his rage wouldn’t benefit him if he was in the middle of him and his target; he dived down to be safely out of their quarrel, and glanced back just long enough to see that Cedric Diggory was still after him. 

“THE WAY THAT FIREBOLT MOVES!” Lee Jordan yelled, “let’s be real, Potter’s the only reason why Slytherin keeps winning…” 

“Lee Jordan, if you do that again we’ll have to find a new commentator!” McGonagall said sharply. 

“S- sorry… Okay… I got this…” 

Harry shook his head. 

“It’s Slytherin in possession again, as Munroe takes the Quaffle… THE BLUDGER COMES OUT OF NOWHERE! Hufflepuff in possession, yes! Macavoy flying toward the Slytherin goal posts, come on, Heidi, you can do it… YES!” 

“WHAT?” Cedric Munroe roared. 

Hufflepuff had just scored their first points. 

“MALFOY!” 

Draco had been distracted again; he was pointing and yelling, “Harry, the snitch!” 

Harry closed his eyes. Now was not the time. 

Cedric Diggory had seen it too, and was now charging after it. 

“Twenty points to ten, Slytherin in possession!”

Forty more points. As Harry whizzed after Diggory, wanting to distract him and delay him as much as possible, he heard Cedric shouting at Draco, “WHAT DID I TELL YOU, CONCENTRATE, MALFOY!”

The game had gotten more heated now. The Slytherin team was as angry as ever, but the Hufflepuffs seemed to be playing fairly. Cole and Evalyn had tried to unseat one of their chasers, but they didn’t retaliate. Their focus was outstanding. 

Harry now understood why Hufflepuffs were so good at this game. It was a bad idea for Slytherin to play dirty now, if they wanted to win. 

Victoria had scored twenty more points for Slytherin, and Lee Jordan was finding it hard to keep his voice enthusiastic. 

“COME ON MUNROE!” Cole yelled as Harry flew past him. He watched as Cedric scored once more for Slytherin, and drew his attention back to the other Cedric. 

He was looking around quickly; he must've lost sight of the snitch. Harry felt relieved. There was nothing more stressful than this; it would’ve been easier to catch the snitch straight away. Waiting like this, trying to keep Diggory from catching it first, was exhausting.

Draco was now saving every single shot from the Hufflepuffs; probably stirred on by their Captain’s anger, he wasn’t going to let anything distract him again. 

“ANOTHER TEN POINTS TO SLYTHERIN!” Lee Jordan yelled, with more disappointment than excitement.

Now was the time. 

The Slytherin crowd below was screaming itself hoarse; Slytherin was fifty points in the lead, and if Harry caught the Snitch now, the Cup was theirs. Harry could almost feel hundreds of eyes following him as he soared around the field, high above the rest of the game, with Diggory speeding along behind him. And then he saw it. The Snitch was sparkling twenty feet above him. 

WHACK! 

Cole had just taken out Macavoy with the bludger right in front of Harry, causing him to lose sight of the snitch. 

Cedric Diggory rose up swiftly; he still had his eye on it, but Harry wasn’t about to give up now. He flew after him, his Firebolt wasn’t disappointing him. It took him no time to catch up to Diggory; though he saw his hand, outstretched, was closing around the snitch. Harry panicked, and without thinking, grabbed onto Cedric’s robe, pulling him back. 

“PENALTY! PENALTY TO HUFFLEPUFF!”

Cedric was disgruntled. They had lost sight of the snitch once more. 

Applebee took the penalty, but Draco saved the Quaffle. 

“Munroe in possession! He’s just swerved around the Hufflepuff beaters, he’s nearing the Hufflepuff goal-posts… AND HE SCORES!” 

Seventy points to ten.

Harry decided to follow Diggory now; once again, he was closing in on the snitch. Harry urged his Firebolt to go faster, and he was catching up quickly. Diggory’s hand, once again, was outstretched, mere inches away from the snitch. Harry grasped his broom, now shuffling forward, and leaning so far that his body was reaching way past the handle…

And then Cedric Diggory caught it. 

The crowd went absolutely wild. 

“CEDRIC DIGGORY CAUGHT THE SNITCH!” 

They had been so close to the ground, that Harry had collapsed off his broom, and lay on his back, hoping that the bludger would get him way before his Captain could. 

“HUFFLEPUFF WINS THE HOUSE CUP!” 

Harry felt water trickling down his temples, into his hair. It took a moment for him to realize that he was crying. 

They had lost. They lost, and it was all his fault. All of that was for nothing. 

“BOO!” Slytherins were yelling so fiercely that it had overpowered the cheers of the rest of the school. Harry thought that he was invincible because he had the Firebolt. He was unstoppable… 

Soon enough, he heard Cedric Munroe yelling at him, running towards him, “what the hell is wrong with you, Potter? What the hell just happened?” 

He had taken him by the cuffs of his cloak, and dragged him up off the ground. 

“CEDRIC!” Evalyn was running after him, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“We could have won, Potter… We could have won the house cup, but no!”

Evalyn had little success tackling him off of Harry. He was so livid that he had almost strangled him then and there in front of the whole school. 

“CEDRIC NO!” came Michael’s voice; he was running towards them with Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Pike, who had all seized Cedric and held him back. 

Harry struggled to get his bearings. He coughed, tears still streaming down his face. He was trying to wipe them away, shame overwhelming him, but it was no use. Michael had his arms wrapped around him tightly now, and he had no energy left in him to struggle against it. 

“It’s okay, Harry, it’s okay, it’s not your fault… it happens… it’s just Quidditch… it happens…”

“I lost… I couldn’t get the snitch, I lost,” Harry choked, “it was all for nothing.” 

They watched as the Hufflepuff team gathered and accepted their house cup, Cedric Diggory smiling as brightly as ever. 


	11. The Black Dog

It was as if Dementors were allowed to roam the school; Harry fell into a deep state of sadness for the whole week after losing the match to Hufflepuff. Even though the weather was perfect; as June approached, the days became cloudless and sultry; Harry couldn’t get himself to leave the Castle with his friends. 

Draco didn’t seem to take it as hard as Harry; Cedric was very pleased that he had saved the Quaffle so many times, even if he did get distracted once. He got over the loss much faster, too, and was soon smiling and laughing in the courtyard with the rest of his friends, playing Exploding Snap and challenging second-years to duel, calling them wimpy cowards for running away. 

Harry was watching from one of the windows of the library; he couldn’t get himself to show his face after losing the snitch. The Slytherins were so angry with him, that they resorted to calling him a disappointment and saying things like: “How could you lose with a Firebolt?” 

“I’m sorry about the match, Harry,” came a voice behind him. It was Hermione. She had double the amount of books spread out in front of her than usual; probably catching up with everything she missed because of the match. 

Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t want pity, he wanted to be left alone. 

“And… I’m sorry I told Professor McGonagall, too. I know I shouldn’t have… I just felt like it was for the best…”

“For the best?” Harry repeated, “I’m not a toddler, I don’t need to be kept in the Castle like a little child, I can take care of myself, okay.” 

“Okay, Harry,” Hermione muttered. 

Harry felt himself calming down a little. Despite his anger for Hermione not fading completely for what she has done, he felt as lonely as ever. After a minute of silence, he came over to her table and sat down. 

“Did you hear Ron got his rat back?” Hermione said suddenly. It was clear she was trying to lighten up the mood, and Harry appreciated it. 

“Yes, we saw him chasing after it, actually,” Harry said. 

“I told him that Crookshanks didn’t kill it,” Hermione shook her head, “honestly, he’s been mad at me for ages about it. D’you know how old that rat is? It’s as old as he is! I’m shocked that it’s still running around let alone breathing…” 

Harry smiled a little, “where is Ron anyway? You guys didn’t fight, did you?”

“No,” Hermione said, “Ron’s mad at me because all I do is study… he doesn’t get how important this is, I don’t have time to fool around with him and his friends, our exams are way more important.” 

“I guess we’re both complete and utter outcasts of our houses right now,” Harry sighed. Maybe studying with Hermione would give him some benefit, he had waited until the very last moment to go back to his Common Room so he could avoid as many people as possible when going to bed. Spending this time catching up on his homework at the library was the perfect plan. 

Though soon enough the library filled up as the exam season approached. Harry had been grateful for once for Draco’s brash personality; whenever someone from Slytherin decided to throw an insult at Harry, he snapped back twice as harsh. 

Harry even managed to spot Fred and George Weasley working, which was a rare sight. They had their upcoming O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels). Though even they didn’t seem to be as stressed as Hermione. She had a whole table to herself, which seemed to annoy Draco for seemingly no good reason. 

“Why does Granger need so much space… Oh yeah, because her head’s so big, nobody else would fit.” 

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering instead of focusing, though Harry doubted that they could read anyway; he was lost for words that they still managed to pass all their classes. 

“Can you keep it down?” came a very agitated voice from their left. Percy Weasley, Head Boy from Gryffindor, tolerated nothing less than complete and utter silence. His presence at the library gave Madam Pince a much needed break. 

On their way to the Great Hall for lunch, they spotted Hermione walking a few feet in front of them, holding a piece of parchment. Before either Harry or Michael could stop him, Draco picked up the pace, sauntering past her, snatching the parchment right from her hands. 

“Malfoy!” She gasped. 

“Let’s see, is that your exam schedule?” Draco smirked, glancing down at it. 

“Monday… 9 o’clock, Arithmancy... 9 o’clock, Transfiguration...

“Lunch… 1 o’clock, Charms… 1 o’clock, Ancient Runes…” 

Hermione froze, along with Harry and Michael, and eventually Draco. He looked back at her, disbelieving amusement taking over his face. 

“You mean to tell me that you’re going to the Arithmancy and Transfiguration exams at the exact same time?”

“Give that back!” Hermione rushed towards him, snatching her schedule back. 

“Don’t tell me you have…”

“Shut up,” Hermione said quickly, “no, it’s none of your business, Malfoy. Why can’t you just leave me be?” 

“Fine, whatever,” Draco said in a mocking tone, exhaling sharply at her in a threatening sort of way. 

Hermione didn’t budge; it was as if after she had punched him, she grew a resilient sort of courage, which was enough to show that he had no power over her anymore. They had a stare-down for a good minute before Hermione folded her schedule, and without taking her eyes off him, stuffed it into her bag and stormed off. 

Harry and Michael had soon caught up to him, and the three of them made their way to lunch. 

“Can’t believe Granger has a…” Draco cut off. 

“Has a what?” Harry raised an eyebrow. Clearly Draco had just realized what Hermione was doing to get to all of her classes. 

“Nevermind… she probably has delusions or something.” 

After they ate lunch, they had their first exam; Care of Magical Creatures. 

“Beaky’s gettin’ a bit depressed,” Hagrid told them, bending low on the pretense of checking that Harry’s flobberworm was still alive. “Bin cooped up too long. But still… we’ll know day after tomorrow... one way or the other...”

“Everything will be okay,” Michael said with feigned confidence, but both Harry and Draco looked doubtful. 

On their way to Potions, they had the joys of mingling with the Gryffindors as they headed into the Dungeons. 

“Has anyone seen my arithmancy book?” they heard Hermione panic, “How could I have forgotten it?”

“Sorry,” Ron’s voice came, “I took it last night for a bit of light reading…” 

Harry felt terrible for Hermione; it was clear that the stress of her subjects were finally getting to her. He kept asking the same question in his mind; how has she taken up all of these lessons in the first place? 

Potions exam was a disaster for Harry. Try as he might, he couldn’t get his Confusing Concoction to thicken, and Snape, standing watch with an air of vindictive pleasure, scribbled something that looked suspiciously like a zero onto his notes before moving away. Draco had much more luck, though, he scored a perfect 100%, and Michael got a square 90%, which made Harry feel even more useless. 

Then came Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower; History of Magic on Wednesday morning, in which Harry scribbled everything Florean Fortescue had ever told him about medieval witch-hunts, while wishing he could have had one of Fortescue’s choconut sundaes with him in the stifling classroom. Wednesday afternoon meant Herbology, in the greenhouses under a baking-hot sun; then back to the common room once more, with sunburnt necks, thinking longingly of this time next day, when it would all be over. 

Their second to last exam, on Thursday morning, was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin had compiled the most unusual exam any of them had ever taken; a sort of obstacle course outside in the sun, where they had to wade across a deep paddling pool containing a Grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish their way across a patch of marsh while ignoring misleading directions from a Hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new Boggart. 

“Excellent, Harry,” Lupin muttered as Harry climbed out of the trunk, grinning. “Full marks.” 

Flushed with his success, Harry hung around to watch Draco and Michael. Draco did very well until he reached the Red Caps, which came at him all at once and overwhelmed him completely, stealing his wand before he could throw out a jinx. 

Michael did everything perfectly until he reached the trunk with the Boggart in it. It had taken him so long that Professor Lupin had to intervene; apparently it had taken him back into his worst nightmare from his childhood that he did not wish to speak of. 

Hermione had a similar problem too, after about a minute inside of the trunk, she burst out again, screaming. 

“Hermione!” said Lupin, startled. “What’s the matter?”

“P-P-Professor McGonagall!” Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. “Sh-she said I’d failed everything!” 

Draco was on the floor, laughing his head off. Harry and Michael had to drag him away back to the Castle before he could make her feel any more stupid.

Though what had greeted them on the steps to the door had surprised all three of them. 

Cornelius Fudge, sweating slightly in his pinstriped cloak, was standing there staring out at the grounds. He started at the sight of Harry. 

“Hello there, Harry!” he said. “Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?” 

“Yes,” said Harry. 

“Draco, Michael, good to see you,” the Minister said off-handedly.

“Good morning, Minister,” Michael said, but Draco remained quiet. 

“Lovely day,” said Fudge, casting an eye over the lake. “Pity… pity…” 

He sighed deeply and looked down at them. 

“I’m here on an unpleasant mission. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad Hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in. So don’t worry, Draco, you’ll surely get justice for your arm...”

“Does that mean the appeal’s already happened?” Michael spoke quickly, stepping forward. 

“No, no, it’s scheduled for this afternoon,” said Fudge, looking curiously at him. 

“Well, then, Buckbeak might be let off, then, right?” 

Before Fudge could answer, two wizards came through the castle doors behind him. One was so ancient he appeared to be withering before their very eyes; the other was tall and strapping, with a thin back mustache. Harry gathered that they were representatives of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, because the very old wizard squinted toward Hagrid’s cabin and said in a feeble voice, “Dear, dear, I’m getting too old for this… Two o’clock, isn’t it, Fudge?” 

The black-mustached man was fingering something in his belt; Harry looked and saw that he was running one broad thumb along the blade of a shining axe. Michael was about to open his mouth to say something, but Draco had nudged him hard. 

“Excuse me,” he spoke up, “if I may, Minister, I’ve already told my Father that there was no need to execute the beast. It was just a scratch and…” Draco caught eyes with Michael, who looked as hopeful as ever, “and it was my fault. I didn’t listen to Professor Hagrid’s instructions. I, as the victim, request that the Hippogriff be let off.” 

Fudge looked at Draco incredulously, before chortling and shaking his head, “dear boy, you have no idea what you’re talking about! Your father was very clear. You cannot blame yourself for this terrible incident, these dangerous creatures have no place in a classroom. I’m sorry, but it’ll be decided today by those much more experienced and more wise than you.”

“But-” Draco began. 

“No buts, you have your exams to finish, now off you go, enjoy your lunch and study hard!”

Draco was the first to storm off irritably; he always hated when he didn’t get his way, that was nothing new. Michael had rushed after him into the corridor, followed by Harry. Neither of them had good feelings about this. 

“They had the axe ready,” Michael mumbled, “they’ve already decided. They decided, haven’t they?”

“Maybe now that they’ve heard Draco’s side, and if Hagrid can argue his case properly, Buckbeak can’t possibly be executed,” Harry said. He wanted to believe that it was true, he wanted to believe that the Minister and those people could possess even a bit of compassion, but somehow, he really doubted it. 

All around them, people were talking excitedly as they ate their lunch, happily anticipating the end of the exams that afternoon, but Harry, Draco, and Michael, lost in worry about Hagrid and Buckbeak, didn’t join in. Their last exam was Divination. They walked up the marble staircase together and proceeded all the way up to the seventh floor, where many of their class were sitting on the spiral staircase to Professor Trelawney’s classroom, trying to cram in a bit of last-minute studying. 

“She’s seeing us all separately,” Neville informed new arrivals as they went to sit down. He had his copy of Unfogging the Future open on his lap at the pages devoted to crystal gazing. 

“Have either of you ever seen anything in a crystal ball?” he asked Harry and Michael unhappily. 

“No,” Harry stated plainly. 

“I did see something… but it left as soon as it came,” Michael speculated, pulling out his book to go over the meanings of symbols one last time. 

“If you ask me, this is the dumbest subject,” Draco spoke. 

“Why didn’t you drop it with Hermione?” Harry remarked.

“I’m not going to bend under pressure like that Mudblood,” Draco scoffed, pulling out his textbook too. 

The line of people outside the classroom shortened very slowly. As each person climbed back down the silver ladder, the rest of the class hissed, “What did she ask? Was it okay?” 

But they all refused to say. 

“She says the crystal ball’s told her that if I tell you, I’ll have a horrible accident!” squeaked Neville as he clambered back down the ladder. 

“How very convenient,” Draco snarled, “maybe Granger was right all along, and she is a fraud.” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, looking at his own watch. It was now two o’clock. “Wish she’d hurry up…” 

Harry, Draco and Michael were soon the only ones left. 

Parvati came back down the ladder glowing with pride. 

“She says I’ve got all the makings of a true Seer,” she informed Lavender, who was waiting for her. “I saw loads of stuff…”

The two girls disappeared down the staircase. 

“Draco Malfoy,” said the familiar, misty voice from over their heads. 

Draco scoffed at Harry and Michael and climbed the silver ladder out of sight. 

The two of them settled on the floor with their backs against the wall. Harry was busy listening to a fly buzzing in the sunny window, his mind across the grounds with Hagrid.

“I hope he’s okay… I can’t focus like this,” Michael whispered. 

Harry merely nodded, and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay.”

Finally, after about twenty minutes, Draco’s feet reappeared on the ladder. 

“How did it go?” Michael asked him, standing up. 

“T’was a joke. Didn’t see a thing, and when she asked, I told her I saw Granger’s face just to get her off my back. Seemed satisfied enough and gave me top marks.”

That made Harry laugh a little, as Professor Trelawney called Michael’s name. 

Harry and Draco waited for him to finish. Harry was growing impatient, his foot tapping the floor. He couldn’t wait until it was over, and dreaded for it to begin. Maybe he could lie to her and tell her that he saw the Grim; though he didn’t feel like watching her panicking over him. 

Michael soon emerged, smiling brightly. 

“I passed,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe what I saw, actually. I saw Harry and his dad.”

“What?” Harry muttered. 

“It was all a bit fuzzy, but I could just feel it, you know? I figured that it means that your father is watching over you. Professor Trelawney was so pleased.” 

“Oh,” Harry muttered. He didn’t know how to feel about this; he knew Michael wouldn’t lie about something like this.

“Harry Potter!” the misty voice fell over him. Professor Trelawney was now reaching out for him through the trap door. 

“Good luck,” Michael muttered, as Harry began to climb up the ladder. 

The tower room was hotter than ever before; the curtains were closed, the fire was alight, and the usual sickly scent made Harry cough as he stumbled through the clutter of chairs and table to where Professor Trelawney sat waiting for him before a large crystal ball. 

“Good day, my dear,” she said softly. “If you would kindly gaze into the Orb… Take your time, now… then tell me what you see within it…” 

Harry bent over the crystal ball and stared, stared as hard as he could, willing it to show him something other than swirling white fog, but nothing happened. 

“Well?” Professor Trelawney prompted delicately. “What do you see?” 

The heat was overpowering and his nostrils were stinging with the perfumed smoke wafting from the fire beside them. He thought of what Draco had done, and decided to pretend. 

“Er...” said Harry, “a dark shape… um…” 

“What does it resemble?” whispered Professor Trelawney. “Think, now…” 

Harry cast his mind around and it landed on Buckbeak. 

“A Hippogriff,” he said firmly. 

“Indeed!” whispered Professor Trelawney, scribbling keenly on the parchment perched upon her knees. “My boy, you may well be seeing the outcome of poor Hagrid’s trouble with the Ministry of Magic! Look closer… Does the Hippogriff appear to… have its head?” 

“Yes,” said Harry firmly. 

“Are you sure?” Professor Trelawney urged him. “Are you quite sure, dear? You don’t see it writhing on the ground, perhaps, and a shadowy figure raising an axe behind it?” 

“No!” said Harry, starting to feel slightly sick. 

“No blood? No weeping Hagrid?” 

“No!” said Harry again, wanting more than ever to leave the room and the heat. “It looks fine, it’s... flying away…” 

Professor Trelawney sighed. “Well, dear, I think we’ll leave it there… A little disappointing… but I’m sure you did your best.” 

Relieved, Harry got up, picked up his bag and turned to go, but then a loud, harsh voice spoke behind him. 

“IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT.” 

Harry wheeled around. Professor Trelawney had gone rigid in her armchair; her eyes were unfocused and her mouth sagging. 

“S- sorry?” said Harry. 

But Professor Trelawney didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes started to roll. Harry sat there in a panic. She looked as though she was about to have some sort of seizure. He hesitated, thinking of running to the hospital wing, and then Professor Trelawney spoke again, in the same harsh voice, quite unlike her own: 

“THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS. HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT… THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT’S AID, GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS. TONIGHT… BEFORE MIDNIGHT… THE SERVANT… WILL SET OUT… TO REJOIN… HIS MASTER…”

Professor Trelawney’s head fell forward onto her chest. She made a grunting sort of noise. 

Harry sat there, staring at her. Then, quite suddenly, Professor Trelawney’s head snapped up again. 

“I’m so sorry, dear boy,” she said dreamily, “the heat of the day, you know… I drifted off for a moment…” 

Harry sat there, staring at her.

“Is there anything wrong, my dear?” 

“N- no...” Harry lied. 

When he had climbed back down the ladder, Draco and Michael had stood up almost immediately. Draco looked amused, and Michael looked interested. 

“So, what did you see?” Michael asked excitedly. 

“I… saw…” but Harry was still trying to process what he had just heard. 

“Harry, are you okay?” Michael muttered. 

“I- yes…” he started down the stairs, and the two of his friends followed him quickly. 

“What happened?” Draco enquired, trying to keep up. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said firmly. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not until he had processed it fully. 

But before they could enter the dungeons, Hedwig swooped in through the window and dropped a note right into Harry’s hands. 

“Hedwig?” Harry muttered, before unfolding the note. 

He read: “Lost appeal. They’re going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don’t come down. I don’t want you to see it. Hagrid.” 

There were no tears staining the parchment, but Hagrid’s usual scruffy handwriting was even harder to read; he must have written it with shaking hands. 

“We’ve got to go,” said Harry at once. “He can’t just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!” 

“We can’t…” Michael spoke, his voice breaking. “It’s at sunset, it’s not safe…”

But Harry had a feeling that Michael didn’t want to go and witness it, and he couldn’t blame him. 

Harry sank his head into his hands, thinking. “If we only had the Invisibility Cloak…” 

“Where is it?” said Draco suddenly. 

Harry told him about leaving it in the passageway under the one-eyed witch. “… if Snape sees me anywhere near there again, I’m in serious trouble,” he finished. 

“That’s right,” said Draco, “if he sees you… How do you open the witch’s hump again?” 

“You... you tap it and say, ‘Dissendium,’” said Harry. “But-”

“I’m Professor Snape’s favourite student, remember? I wouldn’t get into trouble if he saw me, would he?” 

Harry thought about it. That was true. He was surprised that Draco found the motivation to do this; he didn’t think he’d care to be there for Hagrid, but clearly Harry didn’t know him as well as he thought he did. 

Michael had just barely said, “it’s a bad idea,” before Draco was off. 

“If you don’t want to go, then I understand,” Harry told him.

“N- No, I’m going,” Michael said firmly, clutching his fists. “We’re in this together, Harry.”

The two of them waited in the Common Room for Draco to come back. It didn’t take long. 

After a quarter of an hour, Draco came back with the invisibility cloak folded under his robes. 

The three of them went down to dinner with everyone else, but weren’t planning to go back down to the Common Room afterwards. Harry had the cloak hidden down the front of his robes; he had to keep his arms folded to hide the lump.

They skulked in an empty chamber off the entrance hall, listening, until they were sure it was deserted. They heard a last pair of people hurrying across the hall and a door slamming. 

Draco poked his head around the door. “Okay,” he whispered, “path is clear, let's put on the cloak.”

Walking very close together so that nobody would see them, they crossed the hall on tiptoe beneath the cloak, then walked down the stone front steps into the grounds. The sun was already sinking behind the Forbidden Forest, gilding the top branches of the trees. They reached Hagrid’s cabin and knocked. He was a minute in answering, and when he did, he looked all around for his visitor, pale-faced and trembling. 

“It’s us,” Harry hissed. “We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off.” 

“Yeh shouldn’ve come!” Hagrid whispered, but he stood back, and they stepped inside. 

Hagrid shut the door quickly and Harry pulled off the cloak. 

Hagrid was not crying, nor did he throw himself upon their necks. He looked like a man who did not know where he was or what to do. This helplessness was worse to watch than tears.

“Wan’ some tea?” he said. His great hands were shaking as he reached for the kettle. 

“Where’s Buckbeak?” said Michael hesitantly. 

“I- I took him outside,” said Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he filled up the jug. “He’s tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an’- an’ smell fresh air... before...” Hagrid’s hand trembled so violently that the milk jug slipped from his grasp and shattered all over the floor. 

“I’ll do it, Hagrid,” said Michael quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the mess. 

“There’s another one in the cupboard,” Hagrid said, sitting down and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. 

“Isn’t there anything anyone can do?” Draco asked fiercely. “Dumbledore...” 

“He’s tried,” said Hagrid. “He’s got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told ‘em Buckbeak’s all right, but they’re scared… Yeh know what yer Father’s like… threatened ‘em, I expect… an’ the executioner, Macnair, he’s an old pal o’ Malfoy’s… but it’ll be quick an’ clean… an’ I’ll be beside him…” 

“It’s not fair, though, is it?” Draco crossed his arms. 

Hagrid swallowed. His eyes were darting all over the cabin as though looking for some shred of hope or comfort. 

“Dumbledore’s gonna come down while it... while it happens. Wrote me this mornin’. Said he wants ter... ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore…” 

Michael, who had been rummaging in Hagrid’s cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob. He straightened up with the new jug in his hands, fighting back tears. 

“We’ll stay with you too, Hagrid,” Harry began, but Hagrid shook his shaggy head. 

“Yeh’re ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don’ wan’ yeh watchin’. An’ yeh shouldn’ be down here anyway… If Fudge an’ Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh’ll be in big trouble.” 

Silent tears were now streaming down Michael’s face, but he hid them from Hagrid, bustling around making tea.

Draco had an unmistakable look of guilt on his face, Harry hadn’t realized it, but he had been battling over this for a long time quietly; it was his fault that Buckbeak was going to be executed, and there was nothing that he could do about it. 

“They’re comin’…” Hagrid said suddenly. 

Harry, Draco, and Michael whipped around. A group of men was walking down the distant castle steps. In front was Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard gleaming in the dying sun. Next to him trotted Cornelius Fudge. Behind them came the feeble old Committee member and the executioner, Macnair. 

“Yeh gotta go,” said Hagrid. Every inch of him was trembling. “They mustn’ find yeh here… Go now…” 

Michael grabbed the cloak as the three of them edged towards the back door, ushered outside into the back garden by Hagrid hastily. 

Harry felt strangely unreal, and even more so when he saw Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. Buckbeak seemed to know something was happening. He turned his sharp head from side to side and pawed the ground nervously. 

“It’s okay, Beaky,” said Hagrid softly. “It’s okay…” 

He turned to Harry, Draco, and Michael. 

“Go on,” he said. “Get goin’.” 

But they didn’t move. 

“Hagrid, we can’t...” 

“I’ll tell them it was my fault...” 

“They can’t kill him!” 

“Go!” said Hagrid fiercely. “It’s bad enough without you lot in trouble an’ all!” 

They had no choice. As Michael threw the cloak over Harry and Draco, they heard voices at the front of the cabin. 

Hagrid looked at the place where they had just vanished from sight. 

“Go quick,” he said hoarsely. “Don’ listen…” 

And he strode back into his cabin as someone knocked at the front door. Slowly, in a kind of horrified trance, Harry, Draco, and Michael set off silently around Hagrid’s house. 

As they reached the other side, the front door closed with a sharp snap. 

“Please, let’s hurry,” Michael whispered. “I don’t want to see it… I can’t...”

They started up the sloping lawn toward the castle. The sun was sinking fast now; the sky had turned to a clear, purple-tinged gray, but to the west there was a ruby-red glow. 

As they neared the grounds, they heard noise of breaking twig, and whipped around, scanning their surroundings, still hidden under the invisibility cloak. 

“What was that?” Draco hissed.

“Shh…” Harry put his finger to his mouth, squinting to see through the darkening field. 

“Scabbers!” They heard someone call. 

Draco let out a long sigh, “what is Weasel doing here?” 

Harry, figuring that they were far away enough to not get spotted, took off the invisibility cloak and was the first to follow the sound of Ron’s voice. 

“Scabbers! Wait!” 

“Ron!” Harry called in a harsh whisper. “Ron!”

Ron whipped around, startled, his hand on his chest. “Harry?”

“What are you doing?” Harry approached him quickly, followed by Draco and Michael. 

“It’s scabbers, he’s gone mad! He bit me and ran!” 

“Where is he?” Harry looked around on the grass, but it was impossible to find a rat in the middle of a massive field. 

“He’s running away!” Ron dashed forwards as if he had spotted him, and did a kind of dive, but then held up a large rock. “Damn it!” 

“Shush!” Harry hissed. 

Draco was looking around apathetically, “seriously? You’re leaving the Castle at night to look for a rat?” 

But Ron was ignoring him, he was doing a sort of military crawl now, looking desperately around. “Scabbers?” 

That’s when they saw a ginger ball of fur wizz past them. It was Crookshanks. 

“Somebody stop that cat!” Ron yelled. 

“Scabbers!” Michael gasped, pointing at something in the grass. 

Ron jumped to his feet, “Where?”

Ron had spotted him and grabbed him quickly, holding him to his chest, “Scabbers...” 

The rat wasn’t fighting anymore, it was cowering and shivering between his fingers as the ginger cat hissed at it. 

“SHHH!” Draco hushed, and Ron’s cursing took a pause. 

They listened. 

There was a jumble of quiet, indistinct male voices coming from Hagrid’s hut, a silence, and then, without warning, the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe. 

Harry’s mind had gone blank with shock. They stood transfixed with horror, unable to speak. The very last rays of the setting sun were casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. Then, behind them, they heard a wild howling from Hagrid. 

Harry saw that Michael was crying all over again. 

“What just happened?” Ron muttered. 

“Buckbeak’s execution,” Harry muttered. He didn’t feel like crying, he didn’t feel anything other than shock at this moment. 

“It was all your fault, Malfoy, wasn’t it?” Ron rounded on him. 

“I didn’t ask for this to happen, Weasley. It’s none of your business anyway…” 

“We should go comfort Hagrid,” Michael said, but Harry grabbed his arm. 

“No, if they see us we’ll get into trouble.”

“We should head back,” Draco said quietly. 

Harry nodded. 

At that moment, Scabbers began to flail around again, trying to get out from Ron’s grip. 

“I swear to god, I’m going to kick that bloody cat!” Ron snapped with annoyance; Crookshanks was now nearing towards him, ready to pounce. 

“Scabbers... NO!” 

Too late; the rat had slipped between Ron’s clutching fingers, hit the ground, and scampered away.

“SCABBERS!” 

“SHH!” Harry hissed, but Ron was already off. 

“It’s none of our business, is it? Let’s go,” Draco said, turning towards the castle. 

Harry shook his head, and stupidly ran after Ron. 

“Harry!” Michael gasped, running after him. 

Draco, not wanting to be left alone, sprinted behind. 

Crookshanks was chasing after Scabbers, as Ron tried to kick him away. 

“Get away from him... get away... Scabbers, come here!” 

Michael caught up with Ron, and the two of them squinted through the darkness.

“Where is he?” Ron whimpered. 

“There!” Michael gasped, diving forward and grabbing hold of Ron’s rat. “I got him…”

Harry and Draco almost fell over Michael, who was trying to catch his breath on the ground. 

But before Ron could collect his rat, before Harry and Draco could catch their breaths, they heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws… Something was bounding toward them, quiet as a shadow; an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog. 

Harry reached for his wand, but too late; the dog had made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest; he keeled over backward in a whirl of hair; he felt its hot breath, saw inch-long teeth…

But the force of its leap had carried it too far; it rolled off him. 

Dazed, feeling as though his ribs were broken, Harry tried to stand up; he could hear it growling as it skidded around for a new attack. 

Michael was on his feet. As the dog sprang back toward them he pushed Harry aside; the dog’s jaws fastened instead around Michael’s outstretched arm. 

Harry lunged forward, he seized a handful of the brute’s hair, but it was dragging Michael away as easily as though he were a rag doll. 

Then, out of nowhere, something hit Harry so hard across the face he was knocked off his feet again. He heard Draco shriek with pain and fall too. Ron did a sort of dive to the floor, crying out Scabbers’ name. 

Harry groped for his wand, blinking blood out of his eyes. 

“Lumos!” he whispered. 

The wandlight showed him the trunk of a thick tree; they had chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and its branches were creaking as though in a high wind, whipping backward and forward to stop them going nearer. And there, at the base of the trunk, was the dog, dragging Michael backward into a large gap in the roots. 

“Michael!” Harry shouted, trying to follow, but a heavy branch whipped lethally through the air and he was forced backward again. 

“What’s happening?” Harry heard Draco’s panicked voice, “did it kill him?”

“Scabbers!” Ron whimpered. 

“Forget your stupid rat, Weasley… where’s Michael?” 

“We have to go and tell the teachers,” Ron panted. 

“Are you stupid?” Draco snarled. “That thing’s big enough to eat him; we haven’t got time.” 

Harry couldn’t agree more. There was no doubt in his mind about what he had to do. 

“Let’s go…” he ran towards the gap, but another branch whipped down at him, twigs clenched like knuckles. 

Harry just about managed to dodge it. 

“There’s no way that we can-” Ron began. 

“If that dog can get in, we can,” Harry panted, darting here and there, trying to find a way through the vicious, swishing branches, but he couldn’t get an inch nearer to the tree roots without being in range of the tree’s blows.

Draco was now crawling on the grass military style, but that didn’t make a difference. He had to roll over to dodge an incoming tree branch slamming down towards him on the ground. 

“It’s impossible!” 

Crookshanks darted forward. He slithered between the battering branches like a snake and placed his front paws upon a knot on the trunk. Abruptly, as though the tree had been turned to marble, it stopped moving. Not a leaf twitched or shook. 

“Crookshanks?” Ron whispered uncertainly. “How did he know?”

They covered the distance to the trunk in seconds, but before they had reached the gap in the roots, Crookshanks had slid into it with a flick of his bottlebrush tail. Harry went next; he crawled forward, headfirst, and slid down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel. Crookshanks was a little way along, his eyes flashing in the light from Harry’s wand. 

Seconds later, Draco slithered down beside him. 

“This is disgusting…” he complained. 

“You could have waited with Ron,” Harry nodded. 

“I'd rather be slathered in mud, thanks.”

But a second later, Ron’s yells could be heard growing louder and louder. He had emerged, knocking Draco over. 

“Watch where you’re…” Draco had grabbed his cloak, looking angry enough to punch him, but Harry had pulled Ron away quickly. 

“There’s no time for fighting,” Harry snapped, “Michael could be eaten alive any minute now!” 

With a huff, Draco got up and brushed off his cloak. 

“Where is he?” Ron whispered. “Scabbers is…”

“Shut up about Scabbers,” Draco hissed as they made their way through the tunnel, following the ginger cat. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were related,” Draco mused, nodding at the feline. 

“Oh, shut your mouth, Malfoy,” Ron shook his head. 

“Where does this tunnel lead anyway?” Draco asked. 

“Don’t know, it’s marked on the Marauder’s Map, though.” 

“It would’ve been handy to have it with us, don’t you think?” Draco said. 

“The Marauder’s Map?” Ron looked confused. 

They moved as fast as they could, bent almost double; ahead of them, Crookshanks’s tail bobbed in and out of view. On and on went the passage; it felt at least as long as the one to Honeydukes… All Harry could think of was Michael and what the enormous dog might be doing to him… He was drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch… And then the tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone. 

Ahead Harry could see a patch of dim light through a small opening. The three of them paused, gasping for breath, edging forward. They raised their wands to see what lay beyond. 

It was a room, a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up. Harry glanced at Draco, who looked very frightened. Ron was whimpering again, but they both nodded. 

Harry pulled himself out of the hole, staring around. The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway. Draco suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm again. His wide eyes were traveling around the boarded windows. 

“Harry,” he hissed, “I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack.” 

Ron whimpered a little louder. Harry looked around. His eyes fell on a wooden chair near them. Large chunks had been torn out of it; one of the legs had been ripped off entirely. 

“Ghosts didn’t do that,” he said slowly. 

At that moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Harry, Draco and Ron looked up at the ceiling. Ron had grown completely silent. 

Quietly as they could, they crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs. They reached the dark landing. 

“Nox,” they whispered together, and the lights at the end of their wands went out. 

Only one door was open. As they crept toward it, they heard movement from behind it; a quiet whimper, and then a deep, loud purring. 

They exchanged a last look, a last nod. Wand held tightly before him, Harry kicked the door wide open. 

On a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of them. On the floor beside him, clutching his arm, which was bleeding so heavily that it had stained the entire left side of his robe, was Michael. 

Harry dashed immediately across to him. 

“Michael… are you okay?” 

“Where’s the dog?” Draco approached cautiously. 

“Is Scabbers safe?” Ron whispered. 

But Michael was transfixed. 

“Michael, what’s going on?” Harry muttered nervously. 

“I- It’s… It’s him, Harry… It’s… n- not a dog… it’s… him…”

Harry wheeled around. 

With a snap, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them. 

A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. 

It was Sirius Black. 

“Expelliarmus!” he croaked, pointing Michael’s wand at them. 

Harry’s, Draco’s and Ron’s wands shot out of their hands, high in the air, and Black caught them. Then he took a step closer. His eyes were fixed on Harry. 

“I thought you’d come and help your friend,” he said hoarsely. His voice sounded as though he had long since lost the habit of using it. “Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful… it will make everything much easier…” 

The taunt about his father rang in Harry’s ears as though Black had bellowed it. A boiling hate erupted in Harry’s chest, leaving no place for fear. For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to attack… to kill. 

Without knowing what he was doing, he started forward, but there was a sudden movement on either side of him and two pairs of hands grabbed him and held him back…

“No, Harry!” Ron gasped in a petrified whisper; Michael, however, spoke to Black. 

“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!” he said, his voice quavering, though the effort of standing upright was draining him of still more color, and he swayed slightly as he spoke. 

Something flickered in Black’s shadowed eyes. “Lie down,” he said quietly to Michael. “You will bleed more if you stand.” 

“I said…” Michael began, “you will have to kill us all…”

Both Ron and Draco whimpered, looking terrified. 

“There’ll be only one murder here tonight,” said Black, and his grin widened. 

“Why’s that?” Harry spat, trying to wrench himself free of Draco, and Ron. “Didn’t care last time, did you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew… What’s the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?” 

“Harry!” Ron whimpered. “Be quiet!” 

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!” Harry roared, and with a huge effort he broke free of their restraint and lunged forward. 

He had forgotten about magic; he had forgotten that he was short and skinny and thirteen, whereas Black was a tall, full-grown man; all Harry knew was that he wanted to hurt Black as badly as he could and that he didn’t care how much he got hurt in return.

Perhaps it was the shock of Harry doing something so stupid, but Black didn’t raise the wands in time. One of Harry’s hands fastened over his wasted wrist, forcing the wand tips away; the knuckles of Harry’s other hand collided with the side of Black’s head and they fell, backward, into the wall.

“Harry, no!” Michael gasped. Both Draco and Ron were too shocked to speak. 

There was a blinding flash as the wands in Black’s hand sent a jet of sparks into the air that missed Harry’s face by inches; Harry felt the shrunken arm under his fingers twisting madly, but he clung on, his other hand punching every part of Black it could find. 

But Black’s free hand had found Harry’s throat.

“No,” he hissed, “I’ve waited too long...” 

The fingers tightened, Harry choked, his glasses askew. Then, Michael had jumped up and thrown himself on Black’s wand hand and Harry heard a faint clatter. He fought free of the tangle of bodies and saw his own wand rolling across the floor; he threw himself toward it but…

“Argh!” Crookshanks had joined the fray; both sets of front claws had sunk themselves deep into Harry’s arm; Harry threw him off, but Crookshanks now darted toward Harry’s wand…

“NO YOU DON’T!” roared Harry, and he aimed a kick at Crookshanks that made the cat leap aside, spitting; Harry snatched up his wand and turned... 

“Get out of the way!” he shoved Michael aside, not caring to be gentle right now. Michael was disoriented, but he managed to get his wand back. He shuffled backwards against the four-poster, depleting any energy that he had left, and collapsing against it. 

Black was sprawled at the bottom of the wall. His thin chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched Harry walking slowly nearer, his wand pointing straight at Black’s heart. 

“Going to kill me, Harry?” he whispered. Harry stopped right above him, his wand still pointing at Black’s chest, looking down at him. A livid bruise was rising around Black’s left eye and his nose was bleeding. 

“You killed my parents,” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly, but his wand hand quite steady. Black stared up at him out of those sunken eyes. 

“I don’t deny it,” he said very quietly. “But if you knew the whole story.” 

“The whole story?” Harry repeated, a furious pounding in his ears. “You sold them to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know.” 

“You’ve got to listen to me,” Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. “You’ll regret it if you don’t… You don’t understand…” 

“I understand a lot better than you think,” said Harry, and his voice shook more than ever. 

“You never heard her, did you? My mum… trying to stop Voldemort killing me… and you did that… you did it…” 

Before either of them could say another word, something ginger streaked past Harry; Crookshanks leapt onto Black’s chest and settled himself there, right over Black’s heart. 

Black blinked and looked down at the cat. 

“Get off,” he murmured, trying to push Crookshanks off him. But Crookshanks sank his claws into Black’s robes and wouldn’t shift. He turned his ugly, squashed face to Harry and looked up at him with those great yellow eyes. 

To his right, Ron gave another low whimper. 

Harry stared down at Black and Crookshanks, his grip tightening on the wand. So what if he had to kill the cat too? It was obviously in league with Black… If it was prepared to die, trying to protect Black, that wasn’t Harry’s business… If Black wanted to save it, that only proved he cared more for Crookshanks than for Harry’s parents… 

Harry raised the wand. Now was the moment to do it. Now was the moment to avenge his mother and father. He was going to kill Black. He had to kill Black. This was his chance… 

The seconds lengthened. And still Harry stood frozen there, wand poised, Black staring up at him, Crookshanks on his chest. 

Michael was breathing deeply, trying to stay conscious; Draco was silent, frozen to the spot. 

And then came a new sound; muffled footsteps were echoing up through the floor; someone was moving downstairs. 

“WE’RE UP HERE!” Draco screamed suddenly. “WE’RE UP HERE!! SIRIUS BLACK!! QUICK!!”

Black made a startled movement that almost dislodged Crookshanks; Harry gripped his wand convulsively... 

Do it now! said a voice in his head... but the footsteps were thundering up the stairs and Harry still hadn’t done it. 

The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks and Harry wheeled around as Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. 

His eyes flickered over Michael, lying on the floor, over Draco and Ron, cowering next to the door, to Harry, standing there with his wand covering Black, and then to Black himself, crumpled and bleeding at Harry’s feet. 

“Expelliarmus!” Lupin shouted. Harry’s wand flew once more out of his hand. Lupin caught it deftly, then moved into the room, staring at Black, who still had Crookshanks lying protectively across his chest. 

Harry stood there, feeling suddenly empty. He hadn’t done it. His nerve had failed him. Black was going to be handed back to the Dementors. 

Then Lupin spoke, in a very tense voice. “Where is he, Sirius?” 

Harry looked quickly at Lupin. He didn’t understand what Lupin meant. Who was Lupin talking about? He turned to look at Black again. Black’s face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn’t move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised his empty hand and pointed straight at Michael. 

Mystified, Harry glanced around at Michael, who looked totally bewildered. 

“But then…” Lupin muttered, staring at Black so intently it seemed he was trying to read his mind, “…why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless...” Lupin’s eyes suddenly widened, as though he was seeing something beyond Black, something none of the rest could see, “...unless he was the one… unless you switched… without telling me?” 

Very slowly, his sunken gaze never leaving Lupin’s face, Black nodded. 

“Professor,” Harry interrupted loudly, “what’s going on?” 

But he never finished the question, because what he saw made his voice die in his throat. 

Lupin was lowering his wand, gazing fixed at Black. The Professor walked to Black’s side, seized his hand, pulled him to his feet so that Crookshanks fell to the floor, and embraced Black like a brother. 

Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. 

“You...” Draco snarled. 

Lupin let go of Black and turned to him. He was pointing at Lupin, his eyes wide. 

“You...” 

“Draco...” 

“After all this time… you were in league with Black?” 

“Draco, calm down...” 

“I know what you are!” Draco hissed. “It’s no surprise, r- really…” 

“Draco, listen to me, please” Lupin shouted. “I can explain...” 

“What’s happening,” Ron said breathlessly, looking like he was about to faint. 

Harry could feel himself shaking, not with fear, but with a fresh wave of fury. 

“I trusted you,” he shouted at Lupin, his voice wavering, out of control, “and all the time you’ve been his friend!” 

“You’re wrong,” said Lupin. “I haven’t been Sirius’s friend, but I am now; let me explain…” “No!” Draco snapped. “Harry, don’t trust him, he’s been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too... he’s- he’s- a w-werewolf!” 

There was a ringing silence. Everyone’s eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Lupin spoke. “Only one out of three, though, I’m afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don’t want Harry dead.” An odd shiver passed over his face. “But I won’t deny that I am a werewolf.” 

Michael made a weak effort to get up again but fell back with a whimper of pain. 

Lupin made toward him, looking concerned, but Michael gasped, “N- no please, don’t hurt me...” 

Lupin stopped dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Draco and said, “How long have you known?”

“Ages,” Draco mumbled. “Since I did Professor Snape’s essay…” 

“He’ll be delighted,” said Lupin coolly. “He assigned that essay hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant… And you were always his best student. Did you check the lunar chart and realize that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realize that the Boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?” 

“Both,” Draco said matter-of-factly. 

Lupin forced a laugh. 

“You really surprised me. If only you tried equally as hard in your other studies, I must say, you’d be the top student. Though it would make sense for you to research so vehemently, werewolves are your greatest fear, am I wrong?” 

Draco said nothing. 

“My only question is, why did you keep it a secret?”

“I thought it was obvious, that there was no need to say it,” Draco said. 

Harry could tell that was a lie. And Lupin probably did, too. 

“Come now, Draco,” Sirius Black suddenly piped up, causing him to shuffle back with surprise. “Draco Malfoy is it? How’s your mother?”

“S-she’s fine,” Draco had now reached the wall, and couldn’t go back any further. Harry could tell that he was shivering with fright. “M- my mother and father, they… they were working for you-know-who…”

“I know!” Sirius was now approaching him, waving his hand as he spoke. “But you’re not like your parents, are you, boy?”

Draco didn’t know how to answer; there was a grimace of terror plastered on his pale, sweaty face. Harry had never seen him this frightened. 

“P- please m- my Father… he wouldn’t want…”

“Sirius,” Lupin interjected calmly, “that’s not why we’re here. Leave the boy.” 

“I was only wondering how my dear cousin was getting on,” Black showed a joyless grin with barred teeth. “But you’re right, we cannot waste anymore time…”

“B- but how…” they heard a weak voice from by the four-poster. Michael was trying to get himself higher, but he was losing too much blood. “How… how did you fool Professor Dumbledore, Professor?” 

“I didn’t, Michael,” Lupin said sincerely, “in fact, every member of staff knew about it.” 

“Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf,” Ron gasped. “Is he mad?” 

“Some of the staff thought so,” said Lupin. “He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I’m trustworthy...” 

“AND HE WAS WRONG!” Harry yelled. “YOU’VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME!” 

He was pointing at Black, who suddenly crossed to the four-poster bed and sank onto it, his face hidden in one shaking hand. Crookshanks leapt up beside him and stepped onto his lap, purring. Michael edged away from both of them, terrified. 

“I have not been helping Sirius,” said Lupin. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain. Look...”

He threw Harry’s wand back to him, who caught it, stunned. Then, Lupin approached Michael, who was now shuffling backwards, whimpering, and with a swish of his wand, and a murmur of “Ferula,” bandages wound up tightly around his bleeding arm. 

“That’s the best I can do, for now.” 

Harry didn’t know what to think. Was it a trick? 

“If you haven’t been helping him,” he said, with a furious glance at Black, “how did you know he was here?” 

“The map,” said Lupin. “The Marauder’s Map. I was in my office examining it...”

“You know how to work it?” Harry said suspiciously. 

“Of course I know how to work it,” said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. “I helped write it. I’m Moony; that was my friends’ nickname for me at school.” 

“You wrote...?” 

“The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you, Draco, and Michael might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his Hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn’t I?” 

He had started to pace up and down, looking at them. Little patches of dust rose at his feet. 

“You might have been wearing your father’s old cloak, Harry...” 

“How d’you know about the cloak?” 

“The number of times I saw James disappearing under it…” said Lupin, waving an impatient hand again. “The point is, even if you’re wearing an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the Marauder’s Map. I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid’s hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid, and set off back toward the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else.” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “Ron, what’s your point?” 

“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” said Lupin, still pacing, and ignoring Harry’s interruption. “I thought the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?” 

“Ron? He… he was chasing after his rat, that’s why he was-”

“Precisely,” Lupin’s finger flew into the air, as if Harry had just cracked the code. Ignoring his bewildered expression, he went on, “then, I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black… I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow...”

“I- it was only one of us… me…” Michael whispered, he clearly didn’t have the energy to speak louder; the bandages around his arm were bleeding through. 

“No, Michael, two of you,” Lupin said. He had stopped his pacing, his eyes moving over him. 

“Do you think I could have a look at the rat?” he said evenly. 

“What?” said Ron. “What’s Scabbers got to do with it?” 

“Everything,” said Lupin. “Could I see him, please?” 

Michael hesitated. 

Ron jumped forward. “No! Michael! Don’t give Scabbers to that lunatic!” 

Scabbers had started to flail uncontrollably in Michael’s trembling hands, but Michael wouldn’t release him. Harry knew that he loved animals, and would never want to see them hurt, but it wasn’t worth risking his life for it. 

“Just give it to him, Michael,” he muttered. 

“No!” Ron gasped. “Scabbers! What do you want with him?” 

Crookshanks was now hissing threateningly, which didn’t help Michael contain the rat. 

“Scabbers…” Black began, “is not a rat…”

“Oh, it’s getting even madder,” Draco muttered desperately, “if you don’t need me, can I go?”

“Stay where you are,” Lupin warned. 

“What do you mean he’s not a rat?” Ron’s voice broke. He was trying to get to Michael, but Black jumped in front of him, scaring him into falling backwards into a chair. 

“That rat is a Wizard,” Lupin said. 

“An Animagus,” Black added, “by the name of Peter Pettigrew.” 


	12. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

It took a few seconds for the absurdity of this statement to sink in. 

Then Ron voiced what Harry was thinking. “You’re both mental.” 

“This is ridiculous!” Draco hissed. 

“Peter Pettigrew’s dead!” said Harry. “He killed him twelve years ago!” He pointed at Black, whose face twitched convulsively. 

“I meant to,” he growled, his yellow teeth bared, “but little Peter got the better of me… not this time, though!” 

And Crookshanks was thrown to the floor as Black lunged at Scabbers; Michael cried with pain as Black’s weight fell on his bleeding arm. 

“Sirius, NO!” Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Michael again, “WAIT! You can’t do it just like that... they need to understand... we’ve got to explain...” 

“We can explain afterwards!” snarled Black, trying to throw Lupin off. One hand was still clawing the air as it tried to reach Scabbers, who was squealing like a piglet, scratching Michael’s face and neck as he tried to escape. 

“Just let that rat go,” Draco shouted.

“Don’t!” Ron bellowed. 

Michael was frozen; he didn’t know what to do. 

“They’ve... got... a... right... to... know... everything!” Lupin panted, still trying to restrain Black. “Ron’s kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don’t understand, and Harry... you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!” 

Black stopped struggling, though his hollowed eyes were still fixed on Scabbers, who was clamped tightly under Michael’s bitten, scratched, and bleeding hands. 

“All right, then,” Black said, without taking his eyes off the rat. “Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for…” 

“You’re nutters, both of you,” said Ron shakily, looking round at Harry and Michael for support. “I’ve had enough of this. Give Scabbers back, Michael. I’m off.” 

He tried stepping towards Michael, but Lupin raised his wand again, pointing it straight at him. 

“You’re going to hear me out, Ron,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at Michael. “Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen.” 

“HE’S NOT PETER, HE’S SCABBERS!” Ron yelled, trying to force past Lupin; but Lupin had blocked his way. 

Then, ignoring Black, Harry turned to Lupin. 

“There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die,” he said. “A whole street full of them…” 

“They didn’t see what they thought they saw!” said Black savagely, still watching Scabbers struggling in Michael’s hands. 

“Everyone thought Sirius killed Peter,” said Lupin, nodding. “I believed it myself... until I saw the map tonight. Because the Marauder’s map never lies… Peter’s alive. Michael’s holding him, Harry.” 

Harry looked down at Michael, and as their eyes met, they agreed, silently: Black and Lupin were both out of their minds. Their story made no sense whatsoever. How could Scabbers be Peter Pettigrew? Azkaban must have unhinged Black after all... but why was Lupin playing along with him? 

Then Draco spoke, quietly, his voice trembling, “h- how is that even possible? It makes no sense. That old stupid rag of a rat? Owned by a Weasley?”

“Why can’t it be true?” Lupin said calmly, as though they were in class, and they had simply spotted a problem in an experiment with Grindylows. 

“Because people would know... if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus, I mean. Father told me that the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there’s a register. I saw Granger looking it up at the library, was kind of curious myself, actually. His name wasn’t on there.” 

“Right again, Draco! Aren’t you full of surprises,” he said. “But the Ministry never knew that there used to be three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts.” 

“If you’re going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus,” said Black, who was still watching Scabbers’s every desperate move. “I’ve waited twelve years, I’m not going to wait much longer.” 

“All right… but you’ll need to help me, Sirius,” said Lupin, “I only know how it began…” 

Lupin broke off. There had been a loud creak behind him. The bedroom door had opened of its own accord. All five of them stared at it. Then Lupin strode toward it and looked out into the landing. 

“No one there…” 

“This place is haunted!” said Ron. 

“It’s not,” said Lupin, still looking at the door in a puzzled way. “The Shrieking Shack was never haunted… The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me.” 

He pushed his graying hair out of his eyes, thought for a moment then said, “That’s where all of this starts... with my becoming a werewolf. None of this could have happened if I hadn’t been bitten… and if I hadn’t been so foolhardy…” 

He looked sober and tired. Ron started to interrupt, but Harry had elbowed him to keep quiet. 

“I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days there was no cure. The potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week, preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform… I’m able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again. 

“Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren’t likely to want their children exposed to me. 

“But then Dumbledore became Headmaster, and he was sympathetic. He said that as long as we took certain precautions, there was no reason I shouldn’t come to school…” 

Lupin sighed, and looked directly at Harry. “I told you, months ago, that the Whomping Willow was planted the year I came to Hogwarts. The truth is that it was planted because I came to Hogwarts. This house...” Lupin looked miserably around the room, “the tunnel that leads to it, they were built for my use. Once a month, I was smuggled out of the castle, into this place, to transform. The tree was placed at the tunnel mouth to stop anyone coming across me while I was dangerous.” 

Harry couldn’t see where this story was going, but he was listening raptly all the same. The only sound apart from Lupin’s voice was Scabbers’s frightened squeaking. 

“My transformations in those days were... were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits. Dumbledore encouraged the rumor… Even now, when the house has been silent for years, the villagers don’t dare approach it… 

“But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius Black… Peter Pettigrew… and, of course, your father, Harry... James Potter. 

“Now, my three friends could hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all sorts of stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see her… I was terrified they would desert me the moment they found out what I was. But of course, they, like you, Draco, worked out the truth… 

“And they didn’t desert me at all. Instead, they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi.” 

“My dad too?” said Harry, astounded. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Lupin. “It took them the best part of three years to work out how to do it. Your father and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong... one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it. Peter needed all the help he could get from James and Sirius. Finally, in our fifth year, they managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will.” 

“But how did that help you?” Michael asked in a weak voice. 

“They couldn’t keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,” said Lupin. “A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James’s Invisibility Cloak. They transformed… Peter, as the smallest, could slip beneath the Willow’s attacking branches and touch the knot that freezes it. They would then slip down the tunnel and join me. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so while I was with them.” 

“Hurry up, Remus,” snarled Black, who was still watching Scabbers with a horrible sort of hunger on his face. 

“I’m getting there, Sirius, I’m getting there… well, highly exciting possibilities were open to us now that we could all transform. Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check. I doubt whether any Hogwarts students ever found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did… And that’s how we came to write the Marauder’s Map, and sign it with our nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs.” 

“What sort of animal...?” Harry began, but Draco cut him off. 

“That’s stupid. And dangerous. You really thought it was a good idea to go capering around as a Werewolf? What if you had bitten someone?” 

“A thought that still haunts me,” said Lupin heavily. “And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless... carried away with our own cleverness. 

“I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore’s trust, of course… he had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the rules he had set down for my own and others’ safety. He never knew I had led three fellow students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next month’s adventure. And I haven’t changed…” Lupin’s face had hardened, and there was self-disgust in his voice. “All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn’t do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I’d betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I’d led others along with me… and Dumbledore’s trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using dark arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it… so, in a way, Snape’s been right about me all along.” 

“Snape?” said Black harshly, taking his eyes off Scabbers; for the first time in minutes and looking up at Lupin. “What’s Snape got to do with it?” 

“He’s here, Sirius,” said Lupin heavily. “He’s teaching here as well.” 

He looked up at Harry, Michael, Ron, and Draco. 

“Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons… you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me...” 

Black made a derisive noise. 

“It served him right,” he sneered. “Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to… hoping he could get us expelled…” 

“Severus was very interested in where I went every month.” Lupin told them. “We were in the same year, you know, and we... er... didn’t like each other very much. He especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch field… anyway Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be... er... amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he’d be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it... if he’d got as far as this house, he’d have met a fully grown werewolf... but your father, who’d heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life… Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was…” 

“So that’s why Snape doesn’t like you,” said Harry slowly, “because he thought you were in on the joke?” 

“That’s right,” sneered a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin. Severus Snape was pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing directly at Lupin. 

Black leapt to his feet. Harry felt as though he’d received a huge electric shock. 

“I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,” said Snape, throwing the cloak aside, careful to keep this wand pointing directly at Lupin’s chest. 

“Very useful, Potter, I thank you…” Snape was slightly breathless, but his face was full of suppressed triumph. 

“You’re wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?” he said, his eyes glittering. “I’ve just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did… lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight.” 

“Severus...” Lupin began, but Snape overrode him. 

“I’ve told the headmaster again and again that you’re helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here’s the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout...” 

“Severus, you’re making a mistake,” said Lupin urgently. “You haven’t heard everything... I can explain... Sirius is not here to kill Harry...”

“Two more for Azkaban tonight,” said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. “I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this… He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin… a tame werewolf...” 

“You fool,” said Lupin softly. “Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?” 

BANG! 

Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Snape’s wand and twisted themselves around Lupin’s mouth, wrists, and ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of rage, Black started toward Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between Black’s eyes. 

“Give me a reason,” he whispered. “Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will.” 

Black stopped dead. It would have been impossible to say which face showed more hatred. Harry stood there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do or whom to believe. 

He glanced around at Ron, Michael and Draco. Ron looked just as confused as he did, Michael was still fighting to keep hold on the struggling Scabbers. Draco, however, took an uncertain step toward Snape and said, “wouldn’t it be better to hear what they have to say first, professor?” 

“I can't believe how stupid you've proven yourself to be, Malfoy, if only your Father knew what a disappointment you turned out to be… ” Professor Snape snarled, “I, of course, blame the influence of Potter. Yes, Potters always had a way of enticing people with their charm and false promises…” 

Harry had no idea what Snape was talking about. Neither, apparently, did Lupin or Black. 

“I’m just saying,” Draco's voice quivered, “he had so many chances to murder Harry. And us...”

“SILENCE MALFOY!” Snape shouted, “All of you are facing expulsion for breaking the rules! Don’t make it even worse for yourselves, you wouldn’t want to share a cell in Azkaban, do you?” 

Draco went silent. Michael was now gripping the rat with his good hand, moving his crimson-stained fingers to his pockets. 

“Vengeance is very sweet,” Snape breathed at Black. “How I hoped I would be the one to catch you…” 

“The joke’s on you again, Severus,” Black snarled. “As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle,” he jerked his head at Ron, “I’ll come quietly…” 

“Up to the castle?” said Snape silkily. “I don’t think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the Dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you, Black… pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay… I...” 

What little color there was in Black’s face left it. “You... you’ve got to hear me out,” he croaked. “The rat... look at the rat...” 

But there was a mad glint in Snape’s eyes that Harry had never seen before. He seemed beyond reason. 

“Come on, all of you,” he said. He clicked his fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound Lupin flew to his hands. “I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the Dementors will have a kiss for him too...” Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had crossed the room in three strides and blocked the door. 

“Get out of the way, Potter, you’re in enough trouble already,” snarled Snape. “If I hadn’t been here to save your skin...” 

“Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year,” Harry said. “I’ve been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the Dementors. If he was helping Black, why didn’t he just finish me off then?”

“Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works,” hissed Snape. “Get out of the way, Potter.” 

“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” Harry yelled. “JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON’T EVEN LISTEN...” 

“SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!” Snape shrieked, looking madder than ever. “Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he’d killed you! You’d have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black... now get out of the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!” 

BANG!

There was a flash of light and a blast that made the door rattle on its hinges; Snape was lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, then slid down it to the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from under his hair. He had been knocked out. 

Harry looked around, amazement on his face; neither Black or Lupin had their wands lifted. 

“Michael?” Draco whispered. 

Harry glanced down. Michael was on the floor, his wand outstretched, shaking madly. 

“I- I just… I just… attacked a teacher…”

Harry realized that he had just tried to disarm Snape; his wand had landed next to Crookshanks on the other side of the room; but he clearly didn’t mean to knock him out cold. 

“Bloody hell…” Ron looked at him with amazement. “Where'd you learn that?” 

Michael didn’t answer. But Harry knew. 

“You should’ve just left him to me,” Black sighed, but Michael had perceived it as a threat, and shuffled a few feet backwards. 

“We’re going to get expelled,” Draco mumbled, “Father’ll kill me…”

Lupin was struggling against his bonds. 

Black bent down quickly and untied him. 

Lupin straightened up, rubbing his arms where the ropes had cut into them. 

“Thank you, Harry,” he said. 

“I’m still not saying I believe you,” he told Lupin. 

“Then it’s time we offered you some proof,” said Lupin. “You, boy... give me Peter, please. Now.” 

“N- no don’t… no…” Ron whimpered. 

Michael looked unsure, he was still holding onto Scabbers tightly. Ron came around the room and stood in front of him bravely. 

“Come off it,” Lupin said weakly. “Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean…” 

“Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat... there are millions of rats... how’s he supposed to know which one he is after if he was locked up in Azkaban?” Ron said. 

“You know, Sirius, that’s a fair question,” said Lupin, turning to Black and frowning slightly. “How did you find out where he was?” 

Black put one of his claw-like hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others. It was the photograph of Ron and the rest of the Weasley family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous summer, and there, on Ron’s shoulder, was Scabbers. 

“How did you get this?” Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck. 

“Fudge,” said Black. “When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter, on the front page on this boy’s shoulder… I knew him at once… how many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts… to where Harry was…” 

“My God,” said Lupin softly, staring from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again. “His front paw…” 

“What about it?” said Ron defiantly. 

“He’s got a toe missing,” said Black. 

“Of course,” Lupin breathed. “So simple… so brilliant… he cut it off himself?” 

“Just before he transformed,” said Black. “When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I’d betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself... and sped down into the sewer with the other rats…” 

“Didn’t you ever hear, Ron?” said Lupin. “The biggest bit of Peter they found was his finger.” 

“Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He’s been in my family for ages, right...” 

“Twelve years, in fact,” said Lupin. “Didn’t you ever wonder why he was living so long?” 

“We... we’ve been taking good care of him!” said Ron. 

“Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?” said Lupin. “I’d guess he’s been losing weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again…” 

“He’s been scared of that mad cat!” said Ron, nodding toward Crookshanks, who was still purring on the bed. 

“This cat isn’t mad,” said Black hoarsely. He reached out a bony hand and stroked Crookshanks’s fluffy head. “He’s the most intelligent of his kind I’ve ever met. He recognized Peter for what he was right away. And when he met me, he knew I was no dog. It was a while before he trusted me… Finally, I managed to communicate to him what I was after, and he’s been helping me…” 

“What do you mean?” breathed Harry. 

“He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn’t… Peter ran away, and hid in the Dungeons, so the cat followed after him…”

That did make sense, Harry thought. Was this why he had seen Crookshanks in his Common Room more than once.

“I tried to ask this boy for the password, but he freaked out and screamed,” Black said as if it made no sense, “I knew I had to get out and lay low for a while. That cat kept me up to date with Peter’s wearabouts. He was still cowering in your dormitory, Harry.

“As a dog, I hid behind a statue and waited until I heard a Slytherin student enter the Common Room, learning the password, and stayed low until night. That cat showed me the way, and I realized that Peter must’ve been cowering under Michael’s bed.” 

Harry’s brain seemed to be sagging under the weight of what he was hearing. It was absurd… and yet…

“That night Peter had escaped, deciding that it was too risky to hide out in the Slytherin Dormitory. Probably went back to his original owner, hoping to continue his miserable life as a pet.” croaked Black. “I’m surprised he didn’t try faking his own death again. But tonight, that cat was onto him, and this time he had tried to run away.” 

These words jolted Harry to his senses. 

“And why did he fake his death in the first place?” he said furiously. “Because he knew you were about to kill him like you killed my parents!” 

“No,” said Lupin, “Harry...” 

“And now you’ve come to finish him off!” 

“Yes, I have,” said Black, with an evil look at Scabbers. 

“Then I should’ve let Snape take you!” Harry shouted. 

“Enough of this,” said Lupin, and there was a steely note in his voice Harry had never heard before. “There’s one certain way to prove what really happened. Michael, give me that rat.” 

“W-what are you going to do with him?” Ron asked Lupin tensely, not budging out of his way. 

“Force him to show himself,” said Lupin. “If he really is a rat, it won’t hurt him.” 

Ron hesitated. Then at long last, he stepped out of the way. 

Michael held out Scabbers and Lupin took him.

Scabbers began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head. 

“Ready, Sirius?” said Lupin. 

Black had already retrieved Snape’s wand from the bed. He approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face. 

“Together?” he said quietly. 

“I think so”, said Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. 

“On the count of three. One... two… THREE!” 

A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly. Ron yelled; the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then…

It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the bed; the hair on his back was standing up. 

He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers’s fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. 

He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door and back again. 

“Well, hello, Peter,” said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. “Long time, no see.” 

“S-Sirius… R-Remus…” Even Pettigrew’s voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. “My friends… my old friends…” 

Black’s wand arm rose, but Lupin seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning took, then turned again to Pettigrew, his voice light and casual. 

“We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed...” 

“Remus,” gasped Pettigrew, and Harry could see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, “you don’t believe him, do you…? He tried to kill me, Remus…” 

“So we’ve heard,” said Lupin, more coldly. “I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you’ll be so...” 

“He’s come to try and kill me again!” Pettigrew squeaked suddenly, pointing at Black, and Harry saw that he used his middle finger, because his index was missing. “He killed Lily and James and now he’s going to kill me too… You’ve got to help me, Remus…” 

Black’s face looked more skull-like than ever as he stared at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes. 

“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” said Lupin. 

“Sorted things out?” squealed Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the boarded windows and, again, the only door. “I knew he’d come after me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting for this for twelve years!”

“You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?” said Lupin, his brow furrowed. “When nobody has ever done it before?” 

“He’s got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Pettigrew shouted shrilly. “How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!” 

Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room. 

“Voldemort, teach me tricks?” he said. 

Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a whip at him. 

“What, scared to hear your old master’s name?” said Black. “I don’t blame you, Peter. His lot aren’t very happy with you, are they?” 

“Don’t know what you mean, Sirius...” muttered Pettigrew, his breathing faster than ever. His whole face was shining with sweat now. 

“You haven’t been hiding from me for twelve years,” said Black. “You’ve been hiding from Voldemort’s old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter… They all think you’re dead, or you’d have to answer to them… I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters’ on your information… and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort’s supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways. If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter...” 

“Don’t know… what you’re talking about…” said Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at Lupin. “You don’t believe this... this madness, Remus?” 

“I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat,” said Lupin evenly. 

“Innocent, but scared!” squealed Pettigrew. “If Voldemort’s supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban... the spy, Sirius Black!” 

Black’s face contorted. 

“How dare you,” he growled, sounding suddenly like the bear-sized dog he had been. “I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter... I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be us… me and Remus… and James…” 

Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting for breath. “Me, a spy… must be out of your mind… never… don’t know how you can say such a-” 

“Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backward. 

“I thought it was the perfect plan… a bluff… Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you… It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.” 

Pettigrew was muttering distractedly; Harry caught words like “far-fetched” and “lunacy,” but he couldn’t help paying more attention to the ashen color of Pettigrew’s face and the way his eyes continued to dart toward the windows and door. 

“Professor Lupin?” said Michael quietly. “Can... can I say something?” 

“Certainly, Michael,” said Lupin courteously. 

“You see… if… Scabbers… Peter I mean… if he hid under my bed for so long, why couldn’t he kill Harry himself? If he’s working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt him before now?” 

“There!” said Pettigrew shrilly, pointing at Michael with his maimed hand. “Thank you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair of Harry’s head! Why should I?” 

“I’ll tell you why,” said Black. “Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort’s been in hiding for fifteen years, they say he’s half dead. You weren’t about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose, for a wreck of a wizard who’d lost all of his power, were you? You’d want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn’t you? Why else did you find a wizard family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren’t you, Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him…” 

Pettigrew opened his mouth and closed it several times. He seemed to have lost the ability to talk. 

“E- excuse me… Mr. Black?” Michael muttered again. 

Black jumped at being addressed like this and stared at Michael as though he had never seen anything quite like him. 

“I just… wanted to ask… how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn’t use Dark Magic?” 

“Thank you!” gasped Pettigrew, nodding frantically at him. “Exactly! Precisely what I...” 

But Lupin silenced him with a look. 

Black was frowning slightly at Michael, but not as though he were annoyed with him. He seemed to be pondering his answer. 

“I don’t know how I did it,” he said slowly. “I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn’t suck it out of me… but it kept me sane and knowing who I am… helped me keep my powers… so when it all became… too much… I could transform in my cell… become a dog. Dementors can’t see, you know…” He swallowed. “They feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions… They could tell that my feelings were less... less human, less complex when I was a dog… but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn’t trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them away from me without a wand… 

“But then I saw Peter in that picture… I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry… perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again…” 

Pettigrew was shaking his head, mouthing noiselessly, but staring all the while at Black as though hypnotized. 

“… ready to strike at the moment he could be sure of allies… and to deliver the last Potter to them. If he gave them Harry, who’d dare say he’d betrayed Lord Voldemort? He’d be welcomed back with honors… 

“So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive… it was as if someone had lit a fire In my head, and the Dementors couldn’t destroy it… It wasn’t a happy feeling… it was an obsession… but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog… It’s so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused… I was thin, very thin… thin enough to slip through the bars… I swam as a dog back to the mainland… I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I’ve been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry…” 

He looked at Harry, who did not look away. 

“Believe me,” croaked Black. “Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.” 

And at long last, Harry believed him. Throat too tight to speak, he nodded. 

“No!” Pettigrew had fallen to his knees as though Harry’s nod had been his own death sentence. He shuffled forward on his knees, groveling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying. 

“Sirius... it’s me… it’s Peter… your friend… you wouldn’t...” 

Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled. 

“There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,” said Black. 

“Remus!” Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. “You don’t believe this... wouldn’t Sirius have told you they’d changed the plan?” 

“Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter,” said Lupin. “I assume that’s why you didn’t tell me, Sirius?” he said casually over Pettigrew’s head. 

“Forgive me, Remus,” said Black. 

“Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,” said Lupin, who was now rolling up his sleeves. “And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?” 

“Of course,” said Black, and the ghost of a grin flitted across his gaunt face. He, too, began rolling up his sleeves. 

“Shall we kill him together?” 

“Yes, I think so,” said Lupin grimly. 

“You wouldn’t… you won’t…” gasped Pettigrew. 

And he scrambled around to Ron. 

“Ron… haven’t I been a good friend… a good pet? You won’t let them kill me, Ron, will you… you’re on my side, aren’t you?” 

But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion. 

“I let you sleep in my bed!” he said. 

“Kind boy… kind master…” Pettigrew crawled toward Ron “You won’t let them do it… I was your rat… I was a good pet…” 

Draco, who had stayed silent this whole time, looked absolutely revolted. 

“D- Draco! Y- your parents, they worked for You-Know-Who, y- you would understand h- how terrible he is!” he dived at him, clasping his robes, now on his knees. “Your parents would have spared me…”

“No… they wouldn’t have spared a coward like you!” Draco kicked him so hard that he almost fell backwards into Michael. 

“Y- you… sweet boy… kind, sweet boy… you wouldn’t let them kill me, you love animals and magical c-creatures, don’t you? You take care of everyone… you’re so f-forgiving and gracious…” 

Michael was speechless. He shuffled back until his back was against the wall, looking horrified. 

Black had now grasped his shoulder, dragging him back away from him. 

Peter didn’t give up, though. He had now turned to Harry. 

“Harry… Harry… you look just like your father… just like him…” 

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?” roared Black. “HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?” 

“Harry,” whispered Pettigrew, shuffling toward him, hands outstretched. “Harry, James wouldn’t have wanted me killed… James would have understood, Harry… he would have shown me mercy…” 

Both Black and Lupin strode forward, holding Pettigrew’s shoulders, and threw him backward onto the floor. He sat there, twitching with terror, staring up at them. 

“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” said Black, who was shaking too. “Do you deny it?” 

Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor. 

“Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord… you have no idea… he has weapons you can’t imagine… I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me...” 

“DON’T LIE!” bellowed Black. “YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!” 

“He- he was taking over everywhere!” gasped Pettigrew. “Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him?”

“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” said Black, with a terrible fury in his face. “Only innocent lives, Peter!” 

“You don’t understand!” whined Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!” 

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roared Black. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!” 

Black and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised. 

“You should have realized,” said Lupin quietly, “if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter.” 

Michael covered his face with his hands and turned to the wall. 

“NO!” Harry yelled. 

He ran forward, placing himself in front Pettigrew, facing the wands. 

“You can’t kill him,” he said breathlessly. “You can’t.” 

Black and Lupin both looked staggered. 

“Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,” Black snarled. “This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family.” 

“I know,” Harry panted. “We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him over to the Dementors… He can go to Azkaban… but don’t kill him.” 

“Harry!” gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around Harry’s knees. “You... thank you... it’s more than I deserve... thank you...” 

“Get off me,” Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew’s hands off him in disgust. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because... I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted them to become killers... just for you.” 

No one moved or made a sound except Pettigrew, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he clutched his chest. 

Black and Lupin were looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they lowered their wands. 

“You’re the only person who has the right to decide, Harry,” said Black. “But think… think what he did…” 

“He can go to Azkaban,” Harry repeated. “If anyone deserves that place, he does…” 

Pettigrew was still wheezing behind him. 

“Very well,” said Lupin. “Stand aside, Harry.” 

Harry hesitated. 

“I’m going to tie him up,” said Lupin. “That’s all, I swear.” 

Harry stepped out of the way. Thin cords shot from Lupin’s wand this time, and next moment, Pettigrew was wriggling on the floor, bound and gagged. 

“But if you transform, Peter,” growled Black, his own wand pointing at Pettigrew too, “we will kill you. You agree, Harry?” 

Harry looked down at the pitiful figure on the floor and nodded so that Pettigrew could see him. 

“Right,” said Lupin, suddenly businesslike. “Michael, I can’t mend wounds nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it’s best if we just carry you until we can get you to the hospital wing. Wouldn’t want you to pass out, of course.” 

“I can carry him, done it before,” Draco said nonchalantly. 

“Thank you,” Michael muttered, trying to get up, but he had lost so much blood that it was an almost impossible task. “What about Professor Snape?” 

They looked down at his limp figure on the floor. 

“There’s nothing seriously wrong with him,” said Lupin, bending over Snape and checking his pulse. “You were just a little... overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er- perhaps it will be best if we don’t revive him until we’re safety back in the castle. We can take him like this…” 

He muttered, “Mobilicorpus.” 

As though invisible strings were tied to Snape’s wrists, neck, and knees, he was pulled into a standing position, head still lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque puppet. He hung a few inches above the ground, his limp feet dangling. 

Ron picked up the Invisibility Cloak from the floor, “Let’s… not forget this…” 

“And two of us should be chained to this,” said Black, nudging Pettigrew with his toe. “Just to make sure.” 

“I’ll do it,” said Lupin. 

“And me,” said Ron savagely, stepping forward. 

Black conjured heavy manacles from thin air; soon Pettigrew was upright again, left arm chained to Lupin’s right, right arm to Ron’s left. 

Ron’s face was set. He seemed to have taken Scabbers’s true identity as a personal insult. 

Crookshanks leapt lightly off the bed and led the way out of the room, his bottlebrush tail held jauntily high. 


	13. The Time-Turner

Harry had never been part of a stranger group. Crookshanks led the way down the stairs; Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron went next, looking like entrants in a six-legged race. Next came Professor Snape, drifting creepily along, his toes hitting each stair as they descended, held up by his own wand, which was being pointed at him by Sirius. Harry and Draco brought up the rear, Michael holding tightly onto Draco’s neck as he carried him on his back. 

Getting back into the tunnel was difficult. Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron had to turn sideways to manage it; Lupin still had Pettigrew covered with his wand. Harry could see them edging awkwardly along the tunnel in single file. 

Crookshanks was still in the lead. Harry went right after Black, who was still making Snape drift along ahead of them; he kept bumping his lolling head on the low ceiling. Harry had the impression Black was making no effort to prevent this. 

“You know what this means?” Black said abruptly to Harry as they made their slow progress along the tunnel. “Turning Pettigrew in?” 

“You’re free,” said Harry. 

“Yes…” said Black. “But I’m also... I don’t know if anyone ever told you... I’m your godfather.” 

“Yeah, I knew that,” said Harry. 

“Well… your parents appointed me your guardian,” said Black stiffly. “If anything happened to them…” 

Harry waited. Did Black mean what he thought he meant? 

“I’ll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle,” said Black. “But… well… think about it. Once my name’s cleared… if you wanted a… a different home…”

Some sort of explosion took place in the pit of Harry’s stomach. 

“What... live with you?” he said, accidentally cracking his head on a bit of rock protruding from the ceiling. “Leave the Dursleys?” 

“Of course, I thought you wouldn’t want to,” said Black quickly. “I understand, I just thought I’d-” 

“Are you insane?” said Harry, his voice easily as croaky as Black’s. “Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?” 

Black turned right around to look at him; Snape’s head was scraping the ceiling but Black didn’t seem to care. They heard Draco complaining behind them every step of the way. 

“You want to?” Black said. “You mean it?” 

“Yeah, I mean it!” said Harry. Black’s gaunt face broke into the first true smile Harry had seen upon it. The difference it made was startling, as though a person ten years younger were shining through the starved mask; for a moment, he was recognizable as the man who had laughed at Harry’s parents’ wedding. 

They did not speak for a while. Draco, however, was having a good conversation with Michael about how funny it would be to see Snape in Potions with a deformed face after this; he clearly didn’t take his previous descent kindly. 

“Draco,” Black spoke up, causing him to almost trip over a rock. 

“What?” he adjusted Michael on his back, almost sending him head-up into the ceiling. 

“You do know that I once knew your mother, right? Well, as a matter of fact, we’re cousins,” Black said solemnly. 

“She might’ve mentioned it,” Draco spoke, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to answer truthfully. 

“I know. I bet you think I’m a traitor. I was cast out of the Black family long ago, for not believing in Blood Purity and supremacism.”

Harry looked back at Draco. He opened his mouth to speak, but then Michael said it for him. “If you’re technically Harry’s Godfather, in a round-about way, wouldn’t Harry and Draco be related,” he laughed a little. 

“Maybe,” Sirius smiled. “You know, I never had anything against your mother, Draco. But… your Father...” 

“It’s fine, just be honest,” Draco said. “I don’t think… I would take it as far as my Father… There’s a lot that we disagree on…” 

Harry was surprised to hear it. First year of Hogwarts, Draco would’ve stood by anything his father told him. 

“I see Harry and Michael are having a good influence on you,” Black said.

Lupin nodded. “It’s true. I have to say, Harry’s having a good influence on Slytherin house as a whole.” 

“I’m… really not that special,” Harry shook his head. 

Ron looked back at him and gave him a soft smile. “It’s true. You were a hero last year, and the year before. I have to say, you’re bloody brilliant. Wish we had you in our house.” 

“Don’t make me laugh, Weasley… I’d like to see you go after the Philosopher’s stone with Harry. Let me guess, you’d also bring Granger along?” Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry laughed a little. 

Ron glanced at Sirius. “He’s got a crush on her…”

“Shut up Weasel, I do not,” Draco snarled. 

Both Lupin and Black chuckled. “Kids. We were just like that back then… weren’t we, Remus?”

Soon enough, they reached the top of the tunnel. 

Crookshanks darted up first; he had evidently pressed his paw to the knot on the trunk, because Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron clambered upward without any sound of savaging branches. Black saw Snape up through the hole, then stood back for Harry and Draco, with Michael on his back, to pass. 

At last, all of them were out. The grounds were very dark now; the only light came from the distant windows of the castle. Without a word, they set off. Pettigrew was still wheezing and occasionally whimpering. Harry’s mind was buzzing. He was going to leave the Dursleys. He was going to live with Sirius Black, his parents’ best friend… 

He felt dazed… 

What would happen when he told the Dursleys he was going to live with the convict they’d seen on television…! 

“One wrong move, Peter,” said Lupin threateningly ahead. His wand was still pointed sideways at Pettigrew’s chest. Silently they tramped through the grounds, the castle lights growing slowly larger. Snape was still drifting weirdly ahead of Black, his chin bumping on his chest. And then…

A cloud shifted. There were suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Their party was bathed in moonlight. 

Snape collided with Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron, who had stopped abruptly. 

Black froze. He flung out one arm to make Harry and Draco stop. 

Harry could see Lupin’s silhouette. He had gone rigid. Then his limbs began to shake. 

“Oh, no...” Michael gasped. “He didn’t take his potion, did he?” 

“Run,” Black whispered. “Run. Now.” 

But Harry couldn’t run. Ron was chained to Pettigrew and Lupin. He leapt forward but Black caught him around the chest and threw him back. 

“Leave it to me... RUN!” 

There was a terrible snarling noise. Lupin’s head was lengthening. So was his body. His shoulders were hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws. 

Crookshanks’s hair was on end again; he was backing away... As the werewolf reared, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappeared from Harry’s side. 

He had transformed. 

The enormous, bearlike dog bounded forward. As the werewolf wrenched itself free of the manacle binding it, the dog seized it about the neck and pulled it backward, away from Ron and Pettigrew. They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other. 

Harry stood, transfixed by the sight, too intent upon the battle to notice anything else. It was Draco’s scream that alerted him; Pettigrew had dived for Lupin’s dropped wand, dragging Ron with him. 

There was a bang, followed up by...

“Expelliarmus.” Harry yelled, pointing his own wand at Pettigrew; Lupin’s wand flew high into the air and out of sight. 

“Stay where you are!” Harry shouted, running forward. 

Too late. Pettigrew had transformed. Harry saw his bald tail whip through the manacle on Ron’s outstretched arm and heard a scurrying through the grass. Ron had tried to grab him but he couldn’t see through the darkness. 

There was a howl and a rumbling growl; Harry turned to see the werewolf taking flight; it was galloping into the forest. 

“Sirius, he’s gone, Pettigrew transformed!” Harry yelled. 

Black was bleeding; there were gashes across his muzzle and back, but at Harry’s words he scrambled up again, and in an instant, the sound of his paws faded to silence as he pounded away across the grounds. 

Draco was frozen in terror. His face was matted with sweat, his eyes wide. Michael had slipped off his back, and was laying, unconscious, on the grass. 

“Is he okay?” Harry dashed over to him, falling to the grass. “Michael…” he touched his pulse; he was still alive. 

“Ron,” Harry yelled. “Take Michael to the Castle! Take him to Madam Pomfrey! Tell Dumbledore what happened! Quick!”

Ron got up, nodding slowly. He was just as pale as the moon. 

“Draco, we’re going after them…”

Draco was breathing heavily, his head wanted to shake no, but he couldn’t move a muscle. “W- W- Were- Werewolf…”

“Now is not the time!” Harry yelled, grabbing his robes. “Let’s go. We have to help our family, do you understand? Family!”

Draco gave a tiny nod. 

Ron heaved Michael up and began to drag him to the Castle. Harry and Draco ran straight after Lupin and Black. 

There was a sound of yelping; like of an injured dog. 

“Sirius,” Harry muttered. 

The yelping seemed to be coming from the ground near the edge of the lake. They pelted toward it, and Harry, running flat out, felt the cold without realizing what it must mean... 

The yelping stopped abruptly. As they reached the lakeshore, they saw why; Sirius had turned back into a man. He was crouched on all fours, his hands over his head. 

“Nooo,” he moaned. “Nooo… please…” 

And then Harry saw them. 

Dementors, at least a hundred of them, gliding in a black mass around the lake toward them. 

He spun around, the familiar, icy cold penetrating his insides, fog starting to obscure his vision; more were appearing out of the darkness on every side; they were encircling them… 

“Draco, think of something happy!” Harry yelled, raising his wand, blinking furiously to try and clear his vision, shaking his head to rid it of the faint screaming that had started inside it…

‘I’m going to live with my godfather. I’m leaving the Dursleys.’ 

He forced himself to think of Black, and only Black, and began to chant: “Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!” 

Black gave a shudder, rolled over, and lay motionless on the ground, pale as death. 

He’ll be alright. I’m going to go and live with him. 

“Expecto patronum! Draco, help me! Expecto Patronum!” 

“Expecto...” Draco whispered, “Expecto… Patronum… Expecto...” 

But he couldn’t do it. 

The Dementors were closing in, barely ten feet from them. They formed a solid wall around Harry and Draco, and were getting closer… 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Harry yelled, trying to blot the screaming from his ears. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” 

A thin wisp of silver escaped his wand and hovered like mist before him. At the same moment, Harry felt Draco collapse next to him. 

He was alone… completely alone… 

“Expecto... Expecto Patronum...” 

Harry felt his knees hit the cold grass. Fog was clouding his eyes. With a huge effort, he fought to remember; Sirius was innocent... innocent... We’ll be okay... I’m going to live with him... 

“Expecto Patronum!” he gasped. 

By the feeble light of his formless Patronus, he saw a Dementor halt, very close to him. It couldn’t walk through the cloud of silver mist Harry had conjured. A dead, slimy hand slid out from under the cloak. It made a gesture as though to sweep the Patronus aside. 

“No... no...” Harry gasped. “He’s innocent… Expecto... Expecto Patronum...” 

He could feel them watching him, hear their rattling breath like an evil wind around him. 

The nearest Dementor seemed to be considering him. Then it raised both its rotting hands... and lowered its hood. 

Where there should have been eyes, there was only thin, gray scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets. But there was a mouth… a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death rattle. 

A paralyzing terror filled Harry so that he couldn’t move or speak. His Patronus flickered and died. White fog was blinding him. 

He had to fight… ‘Expecto Patronum…’ he couldn’t see… and in the distance, he heard the familiar screaming… ‘Expecto Patronum…’ he groped in the mist for Sirius, and found his arm… they weren’t going to take him… But a pair of strong, clammy hands suddenly attached themselves around Harry’s neck. They were forcing his face upward… He could feel its breath… It was going to get rid of him first… He could feel its putrid breath… His mother was screaming in his ears… She was going to be the last thing he ever heard... 

And then, through the fog that was drowning him, he thought he saw a silvery light growing brighter and brighter… 

He felt himself fall forward onto the grass… 

Facedown, too weak to move, sick and shaking, Harry opened his eyes. 

The Dementor must have released him. The blinding light was illuminating the grass around him… 

The screaming had stopped, the cold was ebbing away… 

Something was driving the Dementors back… 

It was circling around him and Black and Draco…

They were leaving… 

The air was warm again… 

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Harry raised his head a few inches and saw an animal amid the light, galloping away across the lake… 

Eyes blurred with sweat, Harry tried to make out what it was… 

It was as bright as a unicorn… 

Fighting to stay conscious, Harry watched it come to a halt as it reached the opposite shore. 

For a moment, Harry saw, by its brightness, somebody welcoming it back… raising his hand to pat it… someone who looked strangely familiar… but it couldn’t be… Harry didn’t understand. He couldn’t think anymore. He felt the last of his strength leave him, and his head hit the ground as he fainted. 

* * *

“Shocking business… shocking… miracle none of them died… never heard the like… by thunder, it was lucky you were there, Snape…” 

“Thank you, Minister.” 

“Order of Merlin, Second Class, I’d say. First Class, if I can wangle it!” 

“Thank you very much indeed, Minister.” 

“Nasty cut you’ve got there… Black’s work, I suppose?” 

“As a matter of fact, it was Potter, Weasley, Munroe and Malfoy, Minister…” 

“No!” 

“Black had bewitched them, I saw it immediately. A Confundus Charm, to judge by their behavior. They seemed to think there was a possibility he was innocent. They weren’t responsible for their actions. On the other hand, their interference might have permitted Black to escape… They obviously thought they were going to catch Black single-handed. They’ve got away with a great deal before now… I’m afraid it’s given them a rather high opinion of themselves… and of course Potter has always been allowed an extraordinary amount of license by the headmaster...” 

“Ah, well, Snape… Harry Potter, you know… we’ve all got a bit of a blind spot where he’s concerned.” 

“And yet... is it good for him to be given so much special treatment? Personally, I try and treat him like any other student. And any other student would be suspended... at the very least... for leading his friends into such danger. Consider, Minister; against all school rules, after all the precautions put in place for his protection, out-of-bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer, and I have reason to believe he has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally too...” 

“Well, well… we shall see, Snape, we shall see… The boy has undoubtedly been foolish…” 

Harry lay listening with his eyes tight shut. He felt very groggy. The words he was hearing seemed to be traveling very slowly from his ears to his brain, so that it was difficult to understand… His limbs felt like lead; his eyelids too heavy to lift… He wanted to lie here, on this comfortable bed, forever… 

“What amazes me most is the behavior of the Dementors… you’ve really no idea what made them retreat, Snape?” 

“No, Minister… by the time I had come ‘round they were heading back to their positions at the entrances…” 

“Extraordinary. And yet Black, and Harry and Lucius’ son...” 

“All unconscious by the time I reached them. I bound and gagged Black, naturally, conjured stretchers, and brought them all straight back to the castle.” 

There was a pause. Harry’s brain seemed to be moving a little faster, and as it did, a gnawing sensation grew in the pit of his stomach… He opened his eyes. Everything was slightly blurred. Somebody had removed his glasses. He was lying in the dark hospital wing. At the very end of the ward, he could make out Madam Pomfrey with her back to him, bending over a bed. Harry squinted. Michael’s dark red hair was visible beneath Madam Pomfrey’s arm, draping off the side of the bed. 

Harry moved his head over on the pillow. In the bed to his right lay Draco. Moonlight was falling across his bed. His eyes were open too. He looked petrified. 

Harry turned his head to the hospital wing door. It was ajar, and the voices of Cornelius Fudge and Snape were coming through it from the corridor outside. 

Madam Pomfrey now came walking briskly up the dark ward to Harry’s bed. He turned to took at her. She was carrying the largest block of chocolate he had ever seen in his life. It looked like a small boulder. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” she said briskly. She placed the chocolate on Harry’s bedside table and began breaking it apart with a small hammer. 

“How’s Michael?” Harry whispered. 

“He’ll live,” said Madam Pomfrey grimly. “As for you two, you’ll be staying here until I’m satisfied you’re... Potter, what do you think you’re doing?” 

Harry was sitting up, putting his glasses back on, and picking up his wand. 

“I need to see the headmaster,” he said. 

“Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly, “it’s all right. They’ve got Black. He’s locked away upstairs. The Dementors will be performing the kiss any moment now...” 

“WHAT?” 

Harry jumped up out of bed; Draco had followed quickly. But his shout had been heard in the corridor outside; next second, Cornelius Fudge and Snape had entered the ward. 

“Harry, Draco, what’s this?” said Fudge, looking agitated. “You both should be in bed... did they have any chocolate?” he asked Madam Pomfrey anxiously. 

“Minister, listen!” Harry said. “Sirius Black’s innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his own death! We saw him tonight! You can’t let the Dementors do that thing to Sirius, he’s...” 

But Fudge was shaking his head with a small smile on his face. 

“Harry, Harry, you’re very confused, you’ve been through a dreadful ordeal, lie back down, now, we’ve got everything under control…” 

“YOU HAVEN’T!” Harry yelled. “YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG MAN!” 

“Do you know who my father is?” Draco snarled; he had sauntered to Harry’s side and was staring furiously into Fudge’s face. “I saw Pettigrew too. It was Weasley’s rat, he’s an Animagus. When my Father hears about this-” 

“You see, Minister?” Snape cut in. “Confunded, both of them… Black’s done a very good job on them…” 

“WE’RE NOT CONFUNDED!” Harry roared. 

“Minister! Professor!” said Madam Pomfrey angrily. “I must insist that you leave. Potter and Malfoy are my patients, and should not be distressed!” 

“I’m not distressed, I’m trying to tell them what happened!” Harry said furiously. “If they’d just listen-” 

But Madam Pomfrey suddenly stuffed a large chunk of chocolate into Harry”s mouth; he choked, and she seized the opportunity to force him back onto the bed. 

“Now, please, Minister, these children need care. Please leave.” 

The door opened again. It was Dumbledore. Harry swallowed his mouthful of chocolate with great difficulty and got up again. 

“Professor Dumbledore, Sirius Black-” 

“For heaven’s sake!” said Madam Pomfrey hysterically. “Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster, I must insist...” 

“My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy,” said Dumbledore calmly. “I have just been talking to Sirius Black...” 

“I suppose he’s told you the same fairy tale he’s planted in Potter’s mind?” spat Snape. “Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive...” 

“That, indeed, is Black’s story,” said Dumbledore, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon spectacles. 

“And does my evidence count for nothing?” snarled Snape. “Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the grounds.” 

“That was because you were knocked out!” Draco hissed. “You didn’t see anything...” 

“Mr Malfoy... HOLD YOUR TONGUE!” 

Draco’s ears turned pink, but he didn’t waver. 

“Now, Snape,” said Fudge, startled, “Lucius’ son is clearly disturbed in his mind, we must make allowances-” 

“I would like to speak to Harry and Draco alone,” said Dumbledore abruptly. “Cornelius, Severus, Poppy... please leave us.” 

“Headmaster!” sputtered Madam Pomfrey. “They need treatment, they need rest-” 

“This cannot wait,” said Dumbledore. “I must insist.” 

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and strode away into her office at the end of the ward, slamming the door behind her. Fudge consulted the large gold pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat. 

“The Dementors should have arrived by now,” he said. “I’ll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I’ll see you upstairs.” 

He crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn’t moved. 

“You surely don’t believe a word of Black’s story?” Snape whispered, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore’s face. 

“I wish to speak to Harry and Draco alone,” Dumbledore repeated. 

Snape took a step toward Dumbledore. 

“Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen,” he breathed. “You haven’t forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven’t forgotten that he once tried to kill me?” 

“My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly. 

Snape turned on his heel and marched through the door Fudge was still holding. It closed behind them, and Dumbledore turned to Harry and Draco. 

They both burst into speech at the same time. 

“Professor, Black’s telling the truth... we saw Pettigrew... he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf...” 

“He’s a rat!” 

“Pettigrew’s front paw, I mean, finger, he cut it off...” 

“Pettigrew attacked Michael, it wasn’t Black.” 

But Dumbledore held up his hand to stem the flood of explanations.

“It is your turn to listen, and I beg you will not interrupt me, because there is very little time,” he said quietly. “There is not a shred of proof to support Black’s story, except your word... and the word of three thirteen-year-old wizards will not convince anybody. A street full of eyewitnesses swore they saw Sirius murder Pettigrew. I myself gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius had been the Potters’ Secret-Keeper.” 

“Professor Lupin can tell you,” Harry said, unable to stop himself. 

“Professor Lupin is currently deep in the forest, unable to tell anyone anything. By the time he is human again, it will be too late, Sirius will be worse than dead. I might add that werewolves are so mistrusted by most of our kind that his support will count for very little and the fact that he and Sirius are old friends...” 

“But-” 

“Listen to me, Harry. It is too late, you understand me? You must see that Professor Snape’s version of events is far more convincing than yours.” 

“I bet he’d love to see Black die for what he had done to him,” Draco said, “all of this, because he’s bitter about some stupid trick…” 

“Sirius has not acted like an innocent man. Without Pettigrew, alive or dead, we have no chance of overturning Sirius’s sentence.” 

“But you believe us.” 

“Yes, I do,” said Dumbledore quietly. “But I have no power to make other men see the truth, or to overrule the Minister of Magic…” 

Harry stared up into the grave face and felt as though the ground beneath him were falling sharply away. He had grown used to the idea that Dumbledore could solve anything. He had expected Dumbledore to pull some amazing solution out of the air. But no… their last hope was gone. 

“What we need,” said Dumbledore slowly, and his light blue eyes moved from Harry to Draco, and then to an empty space beside him, “is more time.” 

Harry and Draco both looked at each other, confused. 

“Miss Granger, you can reveal yourself…” 

To Harry’s shock, Hermione appeared, removing the invisibility cloak off her head. 

“This is totally bonkers,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it… is this really true?” 

“It is indeed,” Dumbledore was nodding. 

“H- how did you…” Draco began. 

Hermione turned to them. “Ron and Professor Dumbledore came back to the Dormitory. Ron with the cloak. They had explained to me what happened and…”

“What is Granger doing here?” Draco looked at Dumbledore, dumbfounded. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. 

“You know what you need to do,” Dumbledore turned to Hermione. 

“But-” Hermione began. 

“Pay attention,” said Dumbledore, speaking very low, and very clearly. “Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick’s office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, all three of you: you must not be seen. Miss Granger, you know the law... you know what is at stake… You. Must. Not. Be. Seen.” 

Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on. 

Dumbledore had turned on his heel and looked back as he reached the door. 

“I am going to lock you in. It is...” he consulted his watch, “five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck.” 

“Good luck?” Harry repeated as the door closed behind Dumbledore. “Three turns? What’s he talking about? What are we supposed to do?” 

But Hermione was fumbling with the neck of her robes, pulling from beneath them a very long, very fine gold chain. 

“So I was right, wasn’t I?” Draco looked even more irritated than before. “That’s why he sent you here. Or did you beg to let him join in on a super important mission?”

“Both of you, come here,” she said urgently, ignoring Draco’s remarks. “We haven’t got time!” 

Harry moved toward her, completely bewildered. She was holding the chain out. He saw a tiny, sparkling hourglass hanging from it. 

“Here...” She had thrown the chain around his neck too. She then glanced at Draco. “I don’t care what you think of me right now, Malfoy. Professor Dumbledore wants us to do this together. If you’re too much of a coward to save your family... then fine by me, stay here.” 

“Coward?” Draco let out a brisk breath of a laugh, walking over to them and getting under the chain, so that all three of them were inside. 

“Ready?” Hermione muttered. 

“What are we doing?” Harry said, completely lost. 

Hermione turned the hourglass over three times. The dark ward dissolved. Harry had the sensation that he was flying very fast, backward. A blur of colors and shapes rushed past him, his ears were pounding, he tried to yell but couldn’t hear his own voice... 

And then he felt solid ground beneath his feet, and everything came into focus again... 

He was standing next to Hermione and Draco in the deserted entrance hall and a stream of golden sunlight was falling across the paved floor from the open front doors. He looked wildly around at Hermione, the chain of the hourglass cutting into his neck. 

“Hermione, what...?” 

“Ugh, you stink…” Draco threw the chain off him as if he had been an inch away from a particularly gruesome troll. 

“In here!” Hermione seized Harry’s and Draco’s arms and dragged them across the hall to the door of a broom closet; she opened it, pushed him inside among the buckets and mops, then slammed the door behind them. 

“What are you going to do to us, please… I was only joking… Y- you don’t stink...” Draco whimpered. 

“What are you on about, Malfoy?” She sighed. “Don’t be so ridiculous…” 

“What just happened?” Harry breathed restlessly. 

“We’ve gone back in time,” Hermione whispered, lifting the chain off Harry’s neck in the darkness. “Three hours back…” 

Harry found his own leg and gave it a very hard pinch. It hurt a lot, which seemed to rule out the possibility that he was having a very bizarre dream. 

“But...” 

“Shh! Listen! Someone’s coming!” 

Hermione had her ear pressed against the cupboard door. 

“Footsteps across the hall… think… what have you done three hours ago?” 

“We were walking to Hagrid’s hut I think,” Draco whispered. “That’s probably us…”

“Are you telling me,” Harry whispered, “that we’re here in this cupboard and we’re out there too?” 

“Yes,” said Draco. 

Hermione’s ear was still glued to the cupboard door. 

“I’m sure it’s you... I can definitely hear Malfoy… god, you’re so loud.” 

“Shut up,” Draco hissed. 

“We’ve gone down the front steps…” Harry muttered, bewildered. “We wore my dad’s cloak.” 

Hermione sat down on an upturned bucket, looking desperately anxious, but Harry wanted a few questions answered. Clearly, so did Draco.

“Where did you get that Time-Turner anyway?” 

“I got it from Professor McGonagall on our first day back. I’ve been using it all year to get to all my lessons. Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone. She had to write all sorts of letters to the Ministry of Magic so I could have one. She had to tell them that I was a model student, and that I’d never, ever use it for anything except my studies… I’ve been turning it back so I could do hours over again, that’s how I’ve been doing several lessons at once, see? But… 

“Harry, I don’t understand what Dumbledore wants us to do. Why did he tell us to go back three hours? How’s that going to help Sirius Black?” 

Harry stared at her shadowy face. 

“There must be something that happened around now he wants us to change,” he said slowly. 

“What happened next?” Hermione muttered. 

Harry frowned; he felt as though he were screwing up his whole brain in concentration. “Dumbledore just said... just said we could save more than one innocent life…” 

And then it hit him. 

“Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!” 

“But... how will that help Black?” Draco asked. 

“Dumbledore said... he just told us where the window is... the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak! They can escape together!”

From what Harry could see of Hermione’s and Draco’s faces, they looked terrified. 

“If we manage that without being seen, it’ll be a miracle!” Hermione gasped.

“Well, we’ve got to try, haven’t we?” said Harry. 

“This is a terrible idea,” Draco muttered. 

Harry stood up and pressed his ear against the door. 

“Doesn’t sound like anyone’s there… Come on, let’s go.” 

Harry pushed open the closet door. The entrance hall was deserted. Hermione took the invisibility cloak and threw it over the three of them. 

As quietly and quickly as they could, they darted out of the closet and down the stone steps. 

The shadows were already lengthening, the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest gilded once more with gold. 

“To Hagrid’s?” Harry looked at Hermione, then Draco.

They both nodded. “To Hagrid’s.” 

They made their way silently through the field, nearing the very edge of the forest. Then, as they glimpsed the front of Hagrid’s house, they heard a knock upon his door. Hagrid had appeared in his doorway, shaking and white, looking around to see who had knocked. And Harry heard his own voice. 

“It’s us. We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off.” 

“Yeh shouldn’ve come!” Hagrid whispered. He stood back, then shut the door quickly. 

“This is the weirdest thing we’ve ever done,” Harry said fervently. 

“Let’s move,” Draco whispered. “We need to get nearer to Buckbeak...” 

They crept along the edge of the trees until they saw the nervous Hippogriff, tethered to the fence around Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. 

“Now?” Harry whispered. 

“No,” said Draco. “If we steal him now, they will think Hagrid set him free. We’ve got to wait until they’ve seen he’s tied outside.” 

“That’s going to give us about sixty seconds,” said Harry. 

This was starting to seem impossible. At that moment, there was a crash of breaking china from inside Hagrid’s cabin. 

“That’s Hagrid breaking the milk jug,” Harry whispered. 

“Can’t believe we’re doing this with Granger,” Draco sighed, “could’ve just given the Time-Turner to Dumbledore, I could’ve used it myself…” 

“Like I would trust something as important as this to you, don’t make me laugh,” Hermione’s face flushed; she clearly wasn’t in the mood for it, it seemed as though she was missing out on a great deal of studying because of this. 

“I’m surprised they trusted it to a Mudblood…” Draco snarled, earning himself a slap across the head from Hermione. 

Harry shushed them and pointed toward the castle. Dumbledore, Fudge, the old Committee member, and Macnair the executioner were coming down the steps. 

“We’re about to come out...” Draco whispered. 

And sure enough, moments later, Hagrid’s back door opened, and Harry saw himself, Draco, and Michael walking out of it with Hagrid. It was, without a doubt, the strangest sensation of his life, standing behind the tree, and watching himself in the pumpkin patch. 

“It’s Okay, Beaky, it’s okay…” Hagrid said to Buckbeak. Then he turned to Harry, Draco, and Michael. “Go on. Get goin’.” 

The three of them threw out excuses, but Hagrid convinced them to go. 

Harry watched the Invisibility Cloak being thrown over them. 

There was a knock on Hagrid’s front door. The execution party had arrived. Hagrid turned, around and headed back into his cabin, leaving the back door ajar. 

Harry watched the grass flatten in patches all around the cabin and heard three pairs of feet retreating. He, Draco, and Michael had gone… but the Harry, Draco, and Hermione hidden in the trees could now hear what was happening inside the cabin through the back door. 

“Where is the beast?” came the cold voice of Macnair. 

“Out- outside,” Hagrid croaked. 

Macnair’s face appeared at Hagrid’s window, staring out at Buckbeak. Then they heard Fudge. 

“We... er... have to read you the official notice of execution, Hagrid. I’ll make it quick. And then you and Macnair need to sign it. Macnair, You’re supposed to listen too, that’s procedure.” 

Macnair’s face vanished from the window. It was now or never. 

“Wait here,” Harry whispered to Draco and Hermione. “I’ll do it.” 

As Fudge’s voice started again, Harry darted out from underneath the cloak, vaulted the fence into the pumpkin patch, and approached Buckbeak. 

“It is the decision of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures that the Hippogriff Buckbeak, hereafter called the condemned, shall he executed on the sixth of June at sundown...” 

Careful not to blink, Harry stared up into Buckbeak’s fierce orange eyes once more and bowed. Buckbeak sank to his scaly knees and then stood up again. 

Harry began to fumble with the knot of rope tying Buckbeak to the fence. 

“…sentenced to execution by beheading, to be carried out by the Committee’s appointed executioner, Walden Macnair…” 

“Come on, Buckbeak,” Harry murmured, “come on, we’re going to help you. Quietly… quietly…” 

“…as witnessed below. Hagrid, you sign here…” 

Harry threw all his weight onto the rope, but Buckbeak had dug in his front feet.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” said the reedy voice of the Committee member from inside Hagrid’s cabin. 

“Hagrid, perhaps it will be better if you stay inside...” 

“No, I- I wan’ ter be with him… I don’ wan’ him ter be alone...” 

Footsteps echoed from within the cabin. 

“Buckbeak, move!” Harry hissed. Harry tugged harder on the rope around Buckbeak’s neck. The Hippogriff began to walk, rustling its wings irritably. They were still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid’s back door. 

“One moment, please, Macnair,” came Dumbledore’s voice. “You need to sign too.” 

The footsteps stopped. Harry heaved on the rope. Buckbeak snapped his beak and walked a little faster. Harry could still hear Dumbledore’s voice talking from within the cabin. He gave the rope another wrench. Buckbeak broke into a grudging trot. They had reached the trees… 

“Quick! Quick!” Hermione moaned, throwing off the cloak, seizing the rope too and adding her weight to make Buckbeak move faster. Draco had done the same. 

Harry looked over his shoulder; they were now blocked from sight; they couldn’t see Hagrid’s garden at all. 

“Stop!” Draco hissed. “They might hear us.” 

Hagrid’s back door had opened with a bang. Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Buckbeak stood quite still; even the Hippogriff seemed to be listening intently. 

Silence… then... 

“Where is it?” said the reedy voice of the Committee member. “Where is the beast?” 

“It was tied here!” said the executioner furiously. “I saw it! Just here!” 

“How extraordinary,” said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in his voice. 

“Beaky!” said Hagrid huskily. There was a swishing noise, and the thud of an axe. 

The executioner seemed to have swung it into the fence in anger. 

And then came the howling, and this time they could hear Hagrid’s words through his sobs. 

“Gone! Gone! Bless his little beak, he’s gone! Musta pulled himself free! Beaky, yeh clever boy!” 

Buckbeak started to strain against the rope, trying to get back to Hagrid. Harry, Draco, and Hermione tightened their grip and dug their heels into the forest floor to stop him. 

“Someone untied him!” the executioner was snarling. “We should search the grounds, the forest.” 

“Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief will have led him away on foot?” said Dumbledore, still sounding amused. “Search the skies, if you will… Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy.” 

“O’- o’ course, Professor,” said Hagrid, who sounded weak with happiness. “Come in, come in…” 

Harry, Draco, and Hermione listened closely. They heard footsteps, the soft cursing of the executioner, the snap of the door, and then silence once more. 

“Now what?” whispered Harry, looking around. 

Buckbeak was staring at Draco vindictively, like he was about to attack. 

Hermione elbowed him hard. 

“What do you think you’re…” Draco hissed, before noticing the evil glares he was getting from the Hippogriff. 

“Draco,” Harry muttered. “You owe someone an apology.” 

“Since when…” he backed away, but tried to look unbothered.

“Since this was your fault,” Hermione raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed. 

Draco sighed irritably, and approached Buckbeak, bowing. “Well… sorry for insulting you... just don’t kill me… please…” 

This seemed to be enough for the Hippogriff. He went back to ignoring Draco indifferently, which was a big relief for him. 

“What now?” he sighed, looking at Harry. 

“We’ll have to hide in here,” said Harry, “We need to wait until they’ve gone back to the castle. Then we wait until it’s safe to fly Buckbeak up to Sirius’s window. He won’t be there for another couple of hours…” 

“Oh, this is going to be difficult…” Hermione looked lost; she didn’t really know what had happened in detail, only what Dumbledore and Ron had told her. 

The sun was now starting to set. Harry was thinking hard. 

“We should keep watch of the Whomping Willow,” Draco said, “then we’ll know what’s happening.” 

“Okay,” said Hermione, getting a firmer grip on Buckbeak’s rope. “But we’ve got to keep out of sight, remember…” 

They moved around the edge of the forest, darkness falling thickly around them, until they were hidden behind a clump of trees through which they could make out the Willow. 

“There’s Ron and Michael!” said Harry suddenly. Dark figures were sprinting across the lawn and Ron’s shout echoed through the still night air. 

“Get away from him... get away... Scabbers, come here...” 

And then they saw two more figures materialize out of nowhere. Harry watched himself and Draco chasing after Michael and Ron. Then he saw Michael dive. 

“There’s Sirius!” said Harry. 

The great shape of the dog had bounded out from the roots of the Willow. They saw him bowl Harry over, then seize on… 

“Looks even worse from here, doesn’t it?” said Harry, watching the dog pulling Michael into the roots. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione looked nervous, “he doesn’t look very innocent…”

“He’s after that stupid rat,” Draco spoke like she should’ve known this. “Use your brain, Granger. Apparently you’ve got one…” 

The Whomping Willow was creaking and lashing out with its lower branches; they could see themselves darting here and there, trying to reach the trunk. 

“I look pathetic,” Draco said mindlessly, watching himself rolling around on the floor, avoiding incoming branches. 

And then the tree froze.

“That was Crookshanks pressing the knot,” said Harry.

Hermione looked at them with even more disbelief. “Crookshanks? What do you-”

“Your cat was helping Sirius,” Harry said. “You’ve actually got a very smart cat… probably takes after you.”

“Thanks…” Hermione whispered. 

“And there we go…” Harry muttered. “We’re in.” 

The moment they disappeared, the tree began to move again. Seconds later, they heard footsteps quite close by. Dumbledore, Macnair, Fudge, and the old Committee member were making their way up to the castle. 

“Right after we’d gone down into the passage!” said Harry. “If only Dumbledore had come with us…” 

“Macnair and Fudge would’ve come too,” said Draco bitterly. “I bet Fudge would’ve loved to tell Macnair to murder Black on the spot…” 

They watched the four men climb the castle steps and disappear from view. For a few minutes the scene was deserted. Then... 

“Here comes Lupin!” said Harry as they saw another figure sprinting down the stone steps and halting toward the Willow. 

Harry looked up at the sky. Clouds were obscuring the moon completely. They watched Lupin seize a broken branch from the ground and prod the knot on the trunk. The tree stopped fighting, and Lupin, too, disappeared into the gap in its roots. 

“If he’d only grabbed the cloak,” said Harry. “It’s just lying there…” 

He turned to Draco and Hermione. “If I just dashed out now and grabbed it, Snape’d never be able to get it and...” 

“Harry, we mustn’t be seen!” Hermione said. 

Harry ignored her, taking their current Invisibility Cloak and placing it over his head. “I’m going to grab the cloak!” 

“Harry, no!” Hermione seized the back of cloak not a moment too soon, pulling it off him. 

Just then, they heard a burst of song. It was Hagrid, making his way up to the castle, singing at the top of his voice, and weaving slightly as he walked. A large bottle was swinging from his hands. 

“See?” Hermione whispered. “See what would have happened? We’ve got to keep out of sight!”

“I was out of sight!” Harry looked at her incredulously. 

“Harry, you don’t know how that could impact the future, we can’t be going around and changing every little thing… what if it leads to your death?” 

“If Snape never found the cloak…” Draco began. 

“Then he would’ve gone down there anyway,” Hermione hissed. “Buckbeak… no!”

The Hippogriff was making frantic attempts to get to Hagrid again; Harry seized his rope too, straining to hold Buckbeak back. They watched Hagrid meander tipsily up to the castle. He was gone. Buckbeak stopped fighting to get away. His head drooped sadly. Barely two minutes later, the castle doors flew open yet again, and Snape came charging out of them, running toward the Willow. 

Harry’s fists clenched as they watched Snape skid to a halt next to the tree, looking around. He grabbed the cloak and held it up. 

“Get your filthy hands off it,” Harry snarled under his breath. 

“Shh!” 

Snape seized the branch Lupin had used to freeze the tree, prodded the knot, and vanished from view as he put on the cloak. 

“So that’s it,” said Draco. “We’re all down there… and now we’ve just got to wait…” 

Hermione took the end of Buckbeak’s rope and tied it securely around the nearest tree, then sat down on the dry ground, arms around her knees. 

“Harry, I was meaning to ask…” Draco turned to Harry, who was now sitting down next to Hermione. “Why didn’t the Dementors get Black? I remember them coming, but then I passed out… there must’ve been hundreds.” 

Harry explained what he’d seen; how, as the nearest Dementor had lowered its mouth to Harry’s, a large silver something had come galloping across the lake and forced the Dementors to retreat. 

Hermione’s mouth was slightly open by the time Harry had finished. Draco looked down at him with disbelief. “But what was it?” 

“There’s only one thing it could have been, to make the Dementors go,” said Harry. “A real Patronus. A powerful one.” 

“But who conjured it?” 

Harry didn’t say anything. He was thinking back to the person he’d seen on the other bank of the lake. He knew who he thought it had been… but how could it have been? 

“Didn’t you see what they looked like?” said Hermione eagerly. “Was it one of the teachers?” 

“No,” said Harry. “He wasn’t a teacher.” 

“But it must have been a really powerful wizard, to drive all those Dementors away… If the Patronus was shining so brightly, didn’t it light him up? Couldn’t you see...?” 

“Yeah, I saw him,” said Harry slowly. “But… maybe I imagined it… I wasn’t thinking straight… I passed out right afterward…” 

“Who did you think it was then?” Draco asked. 

“I think...” Harry swallowed, knowing how strange this was going to sound. “I think it was my dad.” 

Harry glanced up at Draco and Hermione who both looked equally bewildered. 

“Your father’s dead,” Draco said quietly, getting a smack on the arm from Hermione for saying it so insensitively. 

“I know that,” said Harry quickly. 

“You think you saw his ghost?” Hermione muttered. 

“I don’t know… no… he looked solid…” 

“Wait, isn’t that what Michael saw? During his exam, I mean,” Draco said, “that he saw you with your father…” 

“Yeah... from what I could see… it did look like him… I’ve got photos of him…” 

Hermione was still looking at him as though worried about his sanity. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to believe him.

“Maybe your father never died?” he muttered. 

Harry shook his head; if that was true, why would his dad leave him with his abusive muggle family? Why wouldn’t he send him a message? A sign?

He turned to look at Buckbeak, who was digging his beak into the ground, apparently searching for worms. But he wasn’t really watching Buckbeak. He was thinking about his father and about his father’s three oldest friends… 

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs… 

Had all four of them been out on the grounds tonight? Wormtail had reappeared this evening when everyone had thought he was dead… Was it so impossible his father had done the same though? Had he been seeing things across the take? The figure had been too far away to see distinctly… yet he had felt sure, for a moment, before he’d lost consciousness… 

The leaves overhead rustled faintly in the breeze. The moon drifted in and out of sight behind the shifting clouds. 

Hermione sat with her face turned toward the Willow, waiting. 

“If my father saw who I was hanging out with, he’d have a fit,” Draco scoffed.

“Will you shut up about it,” Hermione sighed. “Professor Dumbledore asked for my help, he trusts me. You know how hard it is for me to believe that after all this time, Sirius Black was innocent? If the Ministry knew what I was doing with the Time-Turner...”

“You think I’m going to tell them… or Father?” Draco let out another scoff, shaking his head, “nobody’ll find out about this. That I’m associating myself with a Mudblood…” 

Hermione gave out an irritable sigh, but Harry knew that it wasn’t the only reason he wasn’t going to give her away. 

“Here we come,” Harry whispered.

They got to their feet. Buckbeak raised his head. 

They saw Lupin, Ron, and Pettigrew clambering awkwardly out of the hole in the roots. Then came the unconscious Snape, drifting weirdly upward. Next came Harry and Black, followed by Draco with Michael on his back. They all began to walk toward the castle. 

Harry’s heart was starting to beat very fast. He glanced up at the sky. Any moment now, that cloud was going to move aside and show the moon… 

“Harry,” Draco muttered as Harry made forward, like he wanted to interfere. “There’s nothing we can do.” 

“So we’re just going to let Pettigrew escape all over again…” said Harry quietly. 

“How do you expect to find that stupid rat in the dark?” 

“There’s nothing we can do! We came back to help Sirius Black; we’re not supposed to be doing anything else!” Hermione exclaimed. 

“All right!” Harry snapped. 

The moon slid out from behind its cloud. They saw the tiny figures across the grounds stop. Then they saw movement... 

“There goes Lupin,” Harry whispered. “He’s transforming.” 

Draco was frozen to the spot. They watched, holding their breaths. Hermione whispered, “I knew it… he’s a Werewolf, I knew it…” 

Seconds later, Lupin was making his way towards them fast, running to the forest.

Harry grabbed Draco, pulling him behind a tree. 

Hermione couldn’t move. 

“Granger,” Draco hissed, grabbing her wrist and yanking her out of the way of the Werewolf. Harry threw the cloak over them, and they stood there, as silent as possible. 

The Werewolf sniffed around, it’s muzzle close to where the three of them stood, invisible. 

Harry shut his eyes. He was sure that this cloak was useless, that Lupin could smell them. They were done for. 

The Werewolf raised its paw. Harry could hear Draco whimpering, muttering something under his breath, and then, a black dog came out of nowhere and attacked the Werewolf.

“Sirius,” Harry whispered, breathing deeply. “No, Sirius… we have to-”

“Harry!” Hermione grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the way. He and Draco from the past were now running after Sirius and Lupin. Harry watched, astounded, as the rustling of leaves quietened. 

“Thank… god…” Draco muttered. 

Hermione had never looked this terrified. 

“Let’s go to Hagrid’s hut, quick. He’s gone down to the Castle, we should be fine,” Harry said quietly, removing the cloak and leading them to where Buckbeak was tied. They ran out of the woods towards the empty hut, taking the Hippogriff with them.

Harry skidded to the door, wrenched it open, and Hermione, Draco and Buckbeak flashed past him; Harry threw himself in after them and bolted the door. 

Fang the boarhound barked loudly. 

“Shh, Fang, it’s us!” said Draco. Fang seemed to be barking at Hermione. 

“It’s alright,” Harry muttered, “it’s Hermione, you can trust her,” he walked over to him, and scratched behind his ear. 

“That was really close!” Hermione said nervously. 

“Yeah…” Harry was looking out of the window. It was much harder to see what was going on from here. 

Buckbeak seemed very happy to find himself back inside Hagrid’s house. He lay down in front of the fire, folded his wings contentedly, and seemed ready for a good nap. 

“Thank you,” Hermione turned to Draco. “For… saving my life back there…” 

“Whatever,” Draco said, “just don’t expect me to save you again.” 

Harry smiled a little. He hoped that Draco could see how brilliant Hermione really was, and that she could see that Draco wasn’t a bad person beneath his mask of arrogance. He was hoping that the two of them could warm up to each other. Maybe he was just naive, though. Draco’s parents drilled in to him to hate muggle-borns his whole life. 

“I think I’d better go outside again, you know,” said Harry slowly. “I can’t see what’s going on... we won’t know when it’s time...” 

Hermione looked up. Her expression was suspicious. 

“I’m not going to try and interfere,” said Harry quickly. “But if we don’t see what’s going on, how’re we going to know when it’s time to rescue Sirius?”

“Well… okay, then… I’ll wait here with Buckbeak… but Harry, be careful... there’s a werewolf out there... and the Dementors.” 

Harry and Draco stepped outside again and edged around the cabin. They could hear yelping in the distance. That meant the Dementors were closing in on Sirius… He and Draco would be running to him any moment… Harry stared out toward the lake, his heart doing a kind of drumroll in his chest… Whoever had sent that Patronus would be appearing at any moment… For a fraction of a second he stood, irresolute, in front of Hagrid’s door. 

You must not be seen.

But he didn’t want to be seen. He wanted to do the seeing… 

He had to know… 

And there were the Dementors. They were emerging out of the darkness from every direction, gliding around the edges of the lake… They were moving away from where Harry stood, to the opposite bank… He wouldn’t have to get near them… 

Harry began to run. He had no thought in his head except his father… If it was him… if it really was him… he had to know, had to find out… 

“Harry!” Draco hissed, trying to keep up whilst cursing under his breath, “what are you doing?” 

The lake was coming nearer and nearer, but there was no sign of anybody. On the opposite bank, he could see tiny glimmers of silver... his own attempts at a Patronus... 

There was a bush at the very edge of the water. Harry threw himself behind it, peering desperately through the leaves. It didn’t take long for Draco to catch up, and he did the same. 

“What d’you think you’re doing?” he whispered. “The Dementors…” 

“I need to see my father. Shush,” Harry said. 

On the opposite bank, the glimmers of silver were suddenly extinguished. A terrified excitement shot through him... any moment now... 

“Come on!” he muttered, staring about. “Where are you? Dad, come on...”

“He’s not coming,” Draco muttered. “Nobody’s coming.” 

“Wait…” Harry put his arm out to silence him, staring intently at the scene. 

But no one came. Harry raised his head to look at the circle of Dementors across the lake. 

One of them was lowering its hood. It was time for the rescuer to appear.... but no one was coming to help this time... And then it hit him... he understood. 

He hadn’t seen his father he had seen himself... 

Harry flung himself out from behind the bush and pulled out his wand. 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM! ” he yelled. 

And out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. He screwed up his eyes, trying to see what it was. It looked like a horse. It was galloping silently away from him, across the black surface of the lake. He saw it lower its head and charge at the swarming Dementors… Now it was galloping around and around the black shapes on the ground, and the Dementors were falling back, scattering, retreating into the darkness… 

They were gone. 

The Patronus turned. It was cantering back toward Harry across the still surface of the water. It wasn’t a horse. It wasn’t a unicorn, either. It was a stag. It was shining brightly as the moon above… it was coming back to him… 

It stopped on the bank. Its hooves made no mark on the soft ground as it stared at Harry with its large, silver eyes. Slowly, it bowed its antlered head. And Harry realized…

“Prongs,” he whispered. But as his trembling fingertips stretched toward the creature, it vanished. 

Harry stood there, hand still outstretched. Then, with a great leap of his heart, he heard hooves behind him. He whirled around and saw Hermione dashing toward him, dragging Buckbeak behind her. 

“What did you do?” she said fiercely. “You said you were only going to keep a lookout!” 

“Harry… you just…” Draco’s face was visible now behind the bushes. He was as pale as his past, unconscious self on the other side of the lake. 

Hermione looked back at him, confused. “What just happened?” 

“I just saved our lives…” said Harry. “Get behind here behind this bush... I’ll explain.” 

Hermione listened to what had just happened with her mouth open yet again. 

“Did anyone see you?” 

“Yes, haven’t you been listening? I saw me but I thought I was my dad! It’s okay!” 

“I can’t believe it,” Draco shook his head, “You should have seen it, Granger. His Patronus got rid of hundreds of Dementors.”

“That’s very advanced magic, though. Isn’t it?” Hermione looked at them with disbelief. “How did you do it?”

“Well…” Harry paused. “In that moment, I knew that I had already done it, so I knew I would be able to do it this time. Does that make sense?” 

“No,” Hermione shook her head. 

Draco grabbed Harry’s arm, “shh…”

Together they peered around the bush at the other bank. 

Snape had regained consciousness. He was conjuring stretchers and lifting the limp forms of Harry, Draco, and Black onto them. Then, wand held out in front of him, he moved them away toward the castle. 

“Right, it’s nearly time,” said Hermione tensely, looking at her watch. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes until Dumbledore locks the door to the hospital wing. We’ve got to rescue Sirius Black and get back into the ward before anybody realizes you’re missing…” 

They waited, watching the moving clouds reflected in the lake, while the bush next to them whispered in the breeze. 

Buckbeak, bored, was ferreting for worms again. 

“Do you reckon he’s up there yet?” said Harry, checking his watch. He looked up at the castle and began counting the windows to the right of the West Tower. 

“Look!” Draco whispered. “Who’s that? Someone’s coming back out of the castle...” 

Harry stared through the darkness. The man was hurrying across the grounds, toward one of the entrances. Something shiny glinted in his belt. 

“Macnair!” said Harry. “The executioner! He’s gone to get the Dementors! This is it, Draco, Hermione...”

Hermione put her hands on Buckbeak’s back and Harry gave her a leg up. He then looked at Draco expectantly. 

“Wait… do I have…”

“Yes,” Harry said sternly, nodding to his cupped hands. “Get on…” 

Draco looked to Hermione with disdain, and climbed up onto the Hippogriff behind Hermione. 

“Would Buckbeak hold all four of us?” Hermione whispered, unsure. 

Buckbeak stretched out his neck proudly, letting out a noise of annoyance that they could possibly doubt his strength. Harry paused, considering this, before placing his foot on one of the lower branches of the bush and climbing up in front of them. He pulled Buckbeak’s rope back over his neck and tied it to the other side of his collar like reins. 

“Hold on,” Harry muttered.

Hermione wrapped his arms around Harry, but Draco looked hesitant. 

“Oh, you absolute idiot,” Hermione huffed, “if you rather die than have to touch me, then I hope you have a pleasant fall.” 

Draco let out an exasperated sigh, “can you believe her?” he muttered to Harry. His arms moved around her reluctantly. 

“Ready?” Harry said, nudging Buckbeak’s sides with his heels. 

Buckbeak soared straight into the dark air. Harry gripped his flanks with his knees, feeling the great wings rising powerfully beneath them. 

Draco was yelling in horror, his arms wrapped even tighter around Hermione. Between Draco’s screams, Harry could hear Hermione muttering, “Oh, no... I don’t like this oh, I really don’t like this...” 

“You have to be quiet!” Harry hissed back at Draco, who was starting to get used to the Hippogiff’s rhythm of flying. He quietened down, and the three of them were completely silent.

Harry urged Buckbeak forward. They were gliding toward the upper floors of the castle… Harry pulled hard on the left-hand side of the rope, and Buckbeak turned. Harry was trying to count the windows flashing past…

“Whoa!” he said, pulling backward as hard as he could. Buckbeak slowed down and they found themselves at a stop, unless you counted the fact that they kept rising up and down several feet as the Hippogriff beat his wings to remain airborne. 

“He’s there!” Harry said, spotting Sirius as they rose up beside the window. He reached out, and as Buckbeak’s wings fell, was able to tap sharply on the glass. 

Black looked up. Harry saw his jaw drop. He leapt from his chair, hurried to the window and tried to open it, but it was locked.

“Stand back!” Hermione called to him, and she took out her wand, still gripping the back of Harry’s robes with her left hand. “Alohomora!” 

The window sprang open. 

“How... how...?” said Black weakly, staring at the Hippogriff. 

“Get on... there’s not much time,” said Harry, gripping Buckbeak firmly on either side of his sleek neck to hold him steady. “You’ve got to get out of here... the Dementors are coming... Macnair’s gone to get them.” 

Black placed a hand on either side of the window frame and heaved his head and shoulders out of it. It was very lucky he was so thin. In seconds, he had managed to fling one leg over Buckbeak’s back and pull himself onto the Hippogriff behind Draco. 

“Okay, Buckbeak, up!” said Harry, shaking the rope. “Up to the tower... come on.” 

Buckbeak did take a little longer to rise with four people on his back, but he persevered. 

He landed with a clatter on the battlements of the West Tower, and Harry, Draco and Hermione slid off him at once. 

“Sirius, you’d better go, quick,” Harry panted. “They’ll reach Flitwick’s office any moment, they’ll find out you’re gone.” 

Buckbeak pawed the ground, tossing his sharp head. 

“What happened to the other boy? Michael?” croaked Sirius. 

“He’s going to be okay. He’s still out of it, but Madam Pomfrey says she’ll be able to make him better. Quick... go...” 

But Black was still staring down at Harry. “How can I ever thank...” 

“GO!” Harry and Draco shouted together. 

Black wheeled Buckbeak around, facing the open sky. 

“We’ll see each other again,” he said. “You are... truly your father’s son, Harry… and you, Draco, you’re clearly not,” He squeezed Buckbeak’s sides with his heels. 

Harry, Draco and Hermione jumped back as the enormous wings rose once more… The Hippogriff took off into the air… He and his rider became smaller and smaller as Harry gazed after them… then a cloud drifted across the moon… They were gone.


	14. Owl Post Again

“Harry!” Hermione was tugging at his sleeve, staring at her watch. “We’ve got exactly ten minutes to get back down to the hospital wing without anybody seeing us... before Dumbledore locks the door...” 

“Okay,” said Harry, wrenching his gaze from the sky, “let’s go…” 

The three of them slipped under the cloak, through the doorway behind them and down a tightly spiraling stone staircase. As they reached the bottom of it, they heard voices. 

They flattened themselves against the wall out of the way and listened. It sounded like Fudge and Snape. 

They were walking quickly along the corridor past them. 

“…only hope Dumbledore’s not going to make difficulties,” Snape was saying. “The Kiss will be performed immediately?” 

“As soon as Macnair returns with the Dementors. This whole Black affair has been highly embarrassing. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to informing the Daily Prophet that we’ve got him at last… I daresay they’ll want to interview you, Snape… and once young Harry’s back in his right mind, I expect he’ll want to tell the Prophet exactly how you saved him…” 

Harry clenched his teeth. He caught a glimpse of Snape’s smirk as he and Fudge passed them. 

Their footsteps died away. 

Harry, Draco and Hermione waited a few moments to make sure they’d really gone, then started to run in the opposite direction. 

Down one staircase, then another, along a new corridor... then they heard a cackling ahead. 

“Peeves!” Harry muttered. “Be quiet!” 

Peeves seemed to be bouncing along the corridor in boisterous good spirits, laughing his head off. He hadn’t even noticed their shuffling. 

“I bet he’s all excited because the Dementors are going to finish Black off...” Draco whispered. 

Hermione checked her watch. “Three minutes!” 

They snuck along the corridor until Peeves’ voice faded again, and then broke into a run. 

“Hermione... what’ll happen... if we don’t... get back inside before Dumbledore locks the door?” Harry panted. 

“I don’t want to think about it!” Hermione moaned, checking her watch again. “One minute!” 

They had reached the end of the corridor with the hospital wing entrance and threw off the invisibility cloak. 

“Okay... there’s Dumbledore,” said Draco. “Let’s go.”

The door opened. Dumbledore’s back appeared. 

“I am going to lock you in,” they heard him saying. “it is five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck.” 

Dumbledore backed out of the room, closed the door, and took out his wand to magically lock it. 

Panicking, Harry ran forward. Dumbledore looked up, and a wide smile appeared under the long silver mustache. 

“Well?” he said quietly. 

“We did it!” said Harry breathlessly. “Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak…” 

Dumbledore beamed at them. “Well done. I think...” He listened intently for any sound within the hospital wing. “Yes, I think you’ve gone too... get inside... I’ll lock you in...” 

Harry and Draco slipped back inside the Hospital Wing, leaving Hermione with the cloak. 

“I’ll bring it back later,” Hermione said to Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry smiled, “for your help.”

“You welcome,” Hermione smiled, before glancing at Draco. 

Draco looked away. An indistinct noise left his throat, which sounded something like a “thanks.” 

Not a moment after she had disappeared under the cloak, Draco and Harry both turned into the Hospital wing. 

It was empty except for Michael, who was still lying motionless in the end bed. As the lock clicked behind them, Harry and Draco crept back to their own beds. A moment later, Madam Pomfrey came striding back out of her office. 

“Did I hear the headmaster leaving? Am I allowed to look after my patients now?” 

She was in a very bad mood. Harry and Draco thought it best to accept their chocolate quietly. Madam Pomfrey stood over them, making sure they ate it. But Harry could hardly swallow. 

He and Draco were waiting, listening… 

And then, as they both took a fourth piece of chocolate from Madam Pomfrey, they heard a distant roar of fury echoing from somewhere above them… 

“What was that?” said Madam Pomfrey in alarm. Now they could hear angry voices, growing louder and louder. Madam Pomfrey was staring at the door.

“Really... they’ll wake everybody up! What do they think they’re doing?” 

Harry was trying to hear what the voices were saying. They were drawing nearer... 

“He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have left somebody in the room with him. When this gets out-” 

“HE DIDN’T DISAPPARATE!” Snape roared, now very close at hand. “YOU CAN’T APPARATE OR DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS... HAS... SOMETHING... TO... DO... WITH... POTTER!” 

“Severus... be reasonable... Harry has been locked up...” 

BAM. 

The door of the hospital wing burst open. Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. 

Fudge appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself. 

“OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellowed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?” 

“Professor Snape!” shrieked Madam Pomfrey. “Control yourself!” 

“See here, Snape, be reasonable,” said Fudge. “This door’s been locked, we just saw...” 

“THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!” Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Draco. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth. 

“Calm down, man!” Fudge barked. “You’re talking nonsense! Harry? And Lucius’ son? Help Black?” 

“YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieked Snape. “HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT...” 

“That will do, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the ward ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?” 

“Of course not!” said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. “I would have heard them!” 

“Well, there you have it, Severus,” said Dumbledore calmly. “Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Draco are able to be in two places at once, I’m afraid I don’t see any point in troubling them further.” 

Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. 

Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward. 

“Fellow seems quite unbalanced,” said Fudge, staring after him. “I’d watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore.” 

“Oh, he’s not unbalanced,” said Dumbledore quietly. “He’s just suffered a severe disappointment.” 

“He’s not the only one!” puffed Fudge. “The Daily Prophet’s going to have a field day! We had Black cornered and he slipped through our fingers yet again! All it needs now is for the story of that Hippogriff’s escape to get out, and I’ll be a laughing-stock! Well… I’d better go and notify the Ministry…” 

“And the Dementors?” said Dumbledore. “They’ll be removed from the school, I trust?” 

“Oh yes, they’ll have to go,” said Fudge, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. “Never dreamed they’d attempt to administer the Kiss on an innocent boy… Completely out of control… no, I’ll have them packed off back to Azkaban tonight… Perhaps we should think about dragons at the school entrance…” 

“Hagrid would like that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry and Draco. 

As he and Fudge left the dormitory, Madam Pomfrey hurried to the door and locked it again. Muttering angrily to herself, she headed back to her office. 

There was a soft moan from the other end of the ward. Michael had woken up. 

They could see him sitting up, rubbing his eye, looking around. 

“What... what happened?” he muttered. “Harry? Why are we in here? Where’s Sirius? Where’s Professor Lupin? What’s going on?” 

Harry and Draco looked at each other. 

“You explain,” said Harry, helping himself to some more chocolate. 

When Harry, Draco, and Michael left the hospital wing at noon the next day, it was to find an almost deserted castle. The sweltering heat and the end of the exams meant that everyone was taking full advantage of another Hogsmeade visit. Neither Draco nor Michael felt like going, however, so they and Harry wandered onto the grounds, still talking about the extraordinary events of the previous night and wondering where Sirius and Buckbeak were now.

“I’m so glad Buckbeak is safe. Oh, I’m so glad,” Michael looked overjoyed, “and Sirius too, of course. I’m glad everything worked out so well. I need to go and thank Hermione-”

“Don’t…” Draco hissed. “There’s no need to talk to that Mudblood more than necessary.” 

“Draco,” Harry hit his arm, “and here I thought, you were starting to get along.”

“Shut up,” Draco groaned. “I hope Professor Snape wouldn’t tell Father what had happened. He’d kill me.” 

Sitting near the lake, watching the giant squid waving its tentacles lazily above the water, Harry lost the thread of the conversation as he looked across to the opposite bank. The stag had galloped toward him from there just last night… A shadow fell across them and they looked up to see a very bleary-eyed Hagrid, mopping his sweaty face with one of his tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs and beaming down at them. 

“Know I shouldn’ feel happy, after wha’ happened las’ night,” he said. “I mean, Black escapin’ again, an, everythin’... but guess what?” 

“What?” they said, pretending to look curious. 

“Beaky! He escaped! He’s free! Bin celebratin’ all night!” 

“That’s wonderful!” said Michael.

“Yeah… can’t’ve tied him up properly,” said Hagrid, gazing happily out over the grounds. “I was worried this mornin’, mind… thought he mighta met Professor Lupin on the grounds, but Lupin says he never ate anythin’ las’ night…” 

“What?” said Harry quickly.

“Blimey, haven’ yeh heard?” said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. “Er... Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin’… Thought everyone’d know by now… Professor Lupin’s a werewolf, see. An’ he was loose on the grounds las’ night… He’s packin’ now, o’ course.” 

“He’s packing?” said Harry, alarmed. “Why?” 

“Leavin’, isn’ he?” said Hagrid, looking surprised that Harry had to ask. “Resigned firs’ thing this mornin’. Says he can’t risk it happenin’ again.” 

Harry scrambled to his feet. 

“I’m going to see him,” he said to Draco and Michael. 

“But if he’s resigned...” 

“...doesn’t sound like there’s anything we can do...” 

“I don’t care. I still want to see him. I’ll meet you back here.” 

Lupin’s office door was open. He had already packed most of his things. The Grindylow’s empty tank stood next to his battered old suitcase, which was open and nearly full. Lupin was bending over something on his desk and looked up only when Harry knocked on the door. 

“I saw you coming,” said Lupin, smiling. He pointed to the parchment he had been poring over. It was the Marauder’s Map. 

“I just saw Hagrid,” said Harry. “And he said you’d resigned. It’s not true, is it?” 

“I’m afraid it is,” said Lupin. He started opening his desk drawers and taking out the contents. 

“Why?” said Harry. “The Ministry of Magic don’t think you were helping Sirius, do they?” 

Lupin crossed to the door and closed it behind Harry. 

“No. Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives.” He sighed. “That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he... er... accidentally let slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast.” 

“You’re not leaving just because of that!” said Harry. 

Lupin smiled wryly. “This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents… They will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you… That must never happen again.” 

“You’re the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had!” said Harry. “Don’t go!” 

Lupin shook his head and didn’t speak. He carried on emptying his drawers. 

Then, while Harry was trying to think of a good argument to make him stay, Lupin said, “From what the headmaster told me this morning, you saved a lot of lives last night, Harry. If I’m proud of anything I’ve done this year, it’s how much you’ve learned… Tell me about your Patronus.” 

“How d’you know about that?” said Harry, distracted. 

“What else could have driven the Dementors back?” 

Harry told Lupin what had happened. When he’d finished, Lupin was smiling again. 

“Yes, your father was always a stag when he transformed,” he said. “You guessed right… that’s why we called him Prongs.” 

Lupin threw his last few books into his case, closed the desk drawers, and turned to look at Harry. He hesitated, then held out the Marauder’s Map. 

“I am no longer your teacher, so I don’t feel guilty about giving you back this as well. It’s no use to me, and I daresay you, Draco, and Michael will find uses for it.” 

Harry took the map and grinned. “You told me Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would’ve wanted to lure me out of school… you said they’d have thought it was funny.” 

“And so we would have,” said Lupin, now reaching down to close his case. “I have no hesitation in saying that James would have been highly disappointed if his son had never found any of the secret passages out of the castle.” 

There was a knock on the door. 

Harry hastily stuffed the Marauder’s Map and the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket. 

It was Professor Dumbledore. 

He didn’t look surprised to see Harry there. 

“Your carriage is at the gates, Remus,” he said. 

“Thank You, Headmaster.” 

Lupin picked up his old suitcase and the empty Grindylow tank. 

“Well... good-bye, Harry,” he said, smiling. “It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I feel sure we’ll meet again sometime. Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage…” 

Harry had the impression that Lupin wanted to leave as quickly as possible. 

“Good-bye, then, Remus,” said Dumbledore soberly. 

Lupin shifted the Grindylow tank slightly so that he and Dumbledore could shake hands. Then, with a final nod to Harry and a swift smile, Lupin left the office. 

Harry sat down in his vacated chair, staring glumly at the floor. He heard the door close and looked up. Dumbledore was still there. 

“Why so miserable, Harry?” he said quietly. “You should be very proud of yourself after last night.” 

“It didn’t make any difference,” said Harry bitterly. “Pettigrew got away.” 

“Didn’t make any difference?” said Dumbledore quietly, “it made all the difference in the world, Harry. You helped uncover the truth. You saved an innocent man from a terrible fate.” 

Terrible. 

Something stirred in Harry’s memory. 

Greater and more terrible than ever before… 

Professor Trelawney’s prediction! 

“Professor Dumbledore... yesterday, when I was having my Divination exam, Professor Trelawney went very... very strange.” 

“Indeed?” said Dumbledore. “Er... stranger than usual, you mean?” 

“Yes… her voice went all deep and her eyes rolled and she said… she said Voldemort’s servant was going to set out to return to him before midnight… She said the servant would help him come back to power.” Harry stared up at Dumbledore. “And then she sort of became normal again, and she couldn’t remember anything she’d said. Was it... was she making a real prediction?” 

Dumbledore looked mildly impressed. 

“Do you know, Harry, I think she might have been.” he said thoughtfully. “Who’d have thought it? That brings her total of real predictions up to two. I should offer her a pay raise…” 

“But...” Harry looked at him, aghast. How could Dumbledore take this so calmly? “But... I stopped Sirius and Professor Lupin from killing Pettigrew! That makes it my fault if Voldemort comes back!” 

“It does not,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Hasn’t your experience with the Time-Turner taught you anything, Harry? The consequences of our actions are always so complicated, so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed… Professor Trelawney, bless her, is living proof of that… You did a very noble thing, in saving Pettigrew’s life.” 

“But if he helps Voldemort back to power…” 

“Pettigrew owes his life to you. You have sent Voldemort a deputy who is in your debt… When one wizard saves another wizard’s life, it creates a certain bond between them… and I’m much mistaken if Voldemort wants his servant in the debt of Harry Potter.” 

“I don’t want a connection with Pettigrew!” said Harry. “He betrayed my parents!”

“This is magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable, Harry. But trust me… the time may come when you will be very glad you saved Pettigrew’s life.” 

Harry couldn’t imagine when that would be. Dumbledore looked as though he knew what Harry was thinking. 

“I knew your father very well, both at Hogwarts and later, Harry,” he said gently. “He would have saved Pettigrew too, I am sure of it.” 

Harry looked up at him. Dumbledore wouldn’t laugh... he could tell Dumbledore… 

“I thought it was my dad who’d conjured my Patronus. I mean, when I saw myself across the lake… I thought I was seeing him.” 

“An easy mistake to make,” said Dumbledore softly. “I expect you’ll tire of hearing it, but you do look extraordinarily like James. Except for the eyes… you have your mother’s eyes.” 

Harry shook his head. 

“It was stupid, thinking it was him,” he muttered. “I mean, I knew he was dead. But… during the exam, Michael saw me and my Father… in Divination, I mean… He was standing next to me… watching over me...” 

“You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that particular Patronus? Prongs rode again last night.” 

It took a moment for Harry to realize what Dumblefore had said. 

“Last night Sirius told me all about how they became Animagi,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “An extraordinary achievement... not least, keeping it quiet from me. And then I remembered the most unusual form your Patronus took, when it charged at your fellow Slytherin classmates down at your Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. You know, Harry, in a way, you did see your father last night… You found him inside yourself. Perhaps that’s what your friend, Michael, saw during your Divination exam. That, or the fact that you’ve been reunited with your Godfather.” 

And Dumbledore left the office, leaving Harry to his very confused thoughts. 

Nobody at Hogwarts now knew the truth of what had happened the night that Sirius, Buckbeak, and Pettigrew had vanished except Harry, Draco, Michael and Hermione, and Professor Dumbledore. As the end of term approached, Harry heard many different theories about what had really happened, but none of them came close to the truth. 

Mr. Malfoy was furious about Buckbeak. He was convinced that Hagrid had found a way of smuggling the Hippogriff to safety, and seemed outraged that he had been outwitted by a gamekeeper. 

“He’ll calm down eventually,” Draco said, tossing his Father’s letter aside. “Mother sent chocolate frogs. Father and her had been outraged that the Dementors almost killed me. He says he’s going to make sure that the Ministry never bring them to Hogwarts again.”

“Thank god,” Pansy Parkinson let out a loud sigh. 

“Can’t believe my little brother almost had his arm torn off by that psychopath!” Cedric Munroe came sauntering into the Great Hall. Michael hid his face in his arms. “What will my little brother do without me? For these are my last days at Hogwarts… How will you survive?”

“Cole and I will look after him,” Evalyn smiled from the table. 

Cole was too busy deciding which sweet he was going to eat next. 

* * *

Though the weather was perfect, though the atmosphere was so cheerful, though he knew they had achieved the near impossible in helping Sirius to freedom, Harry had never approached the end of a school year in worse spirits. He certainly wasn’t the only one who was sorry to see Professor Lupin go. The whole of Harry’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class was miserable about his resignation, even most of the Slytherins. 

“Wonder what they’ll give us next year?” said Theodore Nott gloomily. 

“Maybe a vampire,” suggested Zabini. 

It wasn’t only Professor Lupin’s departure that was weighing on Harry’s mind. He couldn’t help thinking a lot about Professor Trelawney’s prediction. He kept wondering where Pettigrew was now, whether he had sought sanctuary with Voldemort yet. 

But the thing that was lowering Harry’s spirits most of all was the prospect of returning to the Dursleys. For maybe half an hour, a glorious half hour, he had believed he would be living with Sirius from now on… his parents’ best friend… It would have been the next best thing to having his own father back. And while no news of Sirius was definitely good news, because it meant he had successfully gone into hiding, Harry couldn’t help feeling miserable when he thought of the home he might have had, and the fact that it was now impossible. 

The exam results came out on the last day of term. Harry, Draco, and Michael had passed every subject. Harry was amazed that he had got through Potions. He had a shrewd suspicion that Dumbledore might have stepped in to stop Snape failing him on purpose. 

Snape’s behavior toward Harry over the past week had been quite alarming. Harry wouldn’t have thought it possible that Snape’s dislike for him could increase, but it certainly had. A muscle twitched unpleasantly at the corner of Snape’s thin mouth every time he looked at Harry, and he was constantly flexing his fingers, as though itching to place them around Harry’s throat. 

Cedric had got his top-grade N.E.W.T.s; the only reason anybody knew about this, was because he was walking around and announcing this in the middle of the Great Hall non-surreptitiously. 

Slytherin, meanwhile, largely due to their spectacular loss in the Quidditch Cup, had come second place in the House championship, surpassed by the Hufflepuffs. This meant that the end of term feast took place amid decorations of yellow and black, and that the Hufflepuff table was the noisiest of the lot, as everybody celebrated. 

Harry caught a few evil glares aimed at him from the other slytherins, but most had seemed to forgive him and were now whispering insulting things about the winning house. 

“Can’t believe that fraud won,” Cedric Munroe was frowning, watching Cedric Diggory smiling and laughing, holding up a goblet. “That thief. First my name, then my victory…”

Harry was grateful that Cedric Munroe pretended like he didn’t exist. He preferred that to his past grandiose shows of admiration. Maybe it was a good thing that they lost, it certainly knocked Cedric several steps down his egocentric ladder. Both him and Michael were going to celebrate the fact that he won’t be coming to Hogwarts next year. 

As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station the next morning, Hermione came running up to Harry, Draco and Michael in the corridor of the train. 

“I’m so upset that Professor Lupin had to resign!” she shook her head in disbelief. 

“Go play with your stupid boyfriend, Granger,” Draco snarled. 

Harry shot him a look, before looking back to Hermione. “No, honestly, thank you for your help. We wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” 

Michael nodded, too. 

Hermione smiled a bit. “I should probably give this back to you,” she said, hanging Harry a package. “It’s your cloak… also… I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning, just before breakfast. I’ve decided to drop Muggle Studies.” 

“Didn’t you pass your exam with three hundred and twenty percent?” said Draco bitterly. 

“Yes,” sighed Hermione, “Don’t look at me like that, didn’t you get a hundred in practically everything?” 

Harry looked from her to Draco. It was true, Draco came second in the year. Both Harry and Michael were on even footing somewhere just above a pass. 

“...But I can’t stand another year like this one. That Time-Turner, it was driving me mad. I’ve handed it in. Without Muggle Studies and Divination, I’ll be able to have a normal schedule again,” Hermione wiped her forehead, like just thinking about it exhausted her. 

“Good for you,” said Harry genuinely. “You shouldn’t overwork yourself like that again.” 

Moments later, Ron appeared by Hermione’s side, looking from her, to Harry, to Michael to Draco. 

“What are you looking so sour for?” Ron pinched Hermione’s sleeve, stepping in front of her. “Can’t believe a Muggle-born beat you at every exam?” 

“Shut up, Weasley,” Draco hissed. “Why so overprotective of your girlfriend? She can stand up for herself, can’t she?” 

Hermione looked abashed. 

“She told me everything that happened with Sirius,” Ron now looked at Harry, ignoring Draco’s provocation, “I’m glad everything worked out.” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “If you think Pettigrew escaping is such a good thing…” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Ron sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s go, Hermione…” 

Hermione looked at them, a small smile on her face, and followed after Ron through the corridor towards their cabin. 

Harry, Draco and Michael entered an empty one and sat down. Harry just caught a glimpse of Hogwarts fading from view, leaning against the window. 

“I think Hermione is a very good person… you can’t deny that, after everything that she’s helped us with,” Michael said hopefully, wanting to convince Draco. 

“Even if I cared, hypothetically, Father can’t know I’m associating myself with a Mudblood. So just shut up about her, will you?” 

Harry listened to his two friends talk, but didn’t participate. His spirits were low. 

But it was late in the afternoon before the thing that made him truly happy turned up… 

“Harry,” said Michael suddenly, peering over his shoulder. “What’s that outside your window?” 

Harry turned to look outside. Something very small and gray was bobbing in and out of sight beyond the glass. He stood up for a better look and saw that it was a tiny owl, carrying a letter that was much too big for it. The owl was so small, in fact, that it kept tumbling over in the air, buffeted this way and that in the train’s slipstream. 

Harry quickly pulled down the window, stretched out his arm, and caught it. It felt like a very fluffy Snitch. He brought it carefully inside. 

The owl dropped its letter onto Harry’s seat and began zooming around their compartment, apparently very pleased with itself for accomplishing its task. 

Hedwig clicked her beak with a sort of dignified disapproval. Cheshire sat up in his seat, following the owl with his big, green eyes. 

Michael, noticing this, snatched the owl safely out of harm’s way. 

Harry picked up the letter. It was addressed to him. 

He ripped open the letter, and shouted, “It’s from Sirius!” 

“What?” said Draco and Michael at the same time. 

“Read it aloud,” Draco urged. 

“Dear Harry, I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle. I don’t know whether they’re used to owl post. Buckbeak and I are in hiding. I won’t tell you where, in case this owl falls into the wrong hands. I have some doubt about his reliability, but he is the best I could find, and he did seem eager for the job. I believe the Dementors are still searching for me, but they haven’t a hope of finding me here. I am planning to allow some Muggles to glimpse me soon, a long way from Hogwarts, so that the security on the castle will be lifted. There is something I never got around to telling you during our brief meeting. It was I who sent you the Firebolt…” 

“I told you,” said Draco with a tone of annoyance. 

“Yes, but he hadn’t jinxed it, had he?” said Harry. 

“Ouch!” The tiny owl now hooting happily in Michael’s hand, had nibbled one of his fingers in what it seemed to think was an affectionate way. 

“Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me. I used your name but told them to take the gold from my own Gringotts vault. Please consider it as thirteen birthdays’ worth of presents from your godfather. I would also like to apologize for the fright I think I gave you that night last year when you left your uncle’s house. I had only hoped to get a glimpse of you before starting my journey north, but I think the sight of me alarmed you. Also, make sure to thank your friend, that girl that was with you, and I hope that Draco’s doing well too. I am enclosing something else for you, which I think will make your next year at Hogwarts more enjoyable. If ever you need me, send word. Your owl will find me. I’ll write again soon. Sirius.” 

Harry looked eagerly inside the envelope. There was another piece of parchment in there. He read it through quickly and felt suddenly as warm and contented as though he’d swallowed a bottle of hot butterbeer in one gulp. 

“I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter’s godfather, hereby give him permission to visit Hogsmeade on weekends.” 

“That’ll be good enough for Dumbledore!” said Harry happily. He looked back at Sirius’s letter. “Hang on, there’s a P.S… 

“I thought your friend Michael might like to keep this owl, as an apology for almost ripping off his arm.” 

Michael’s eyes widened. The minute owl was still hooting excitedly. 

“Keep him?” he said adoringly. “I…”

“You love him,” Draco said impatiently, “we know… where’s the lady with the trolley...” 

Cheshire got up and sniffed the tiny owl in Michael’s hands. To their great surprise, he began to purr. 

“I think they’d get along,” Michael smiled. 

“Aren’t you allowed to bring only one pet?” Draco said. 

“Somehow I can’t imagine Hagrid only ever had one pet at Hogwarts,” Harry laughed. “And Michael loves animals probably just as much…” 

Michael looked extremely happy. 

“Why was Cheshire…” Draco began, “protecting Pettigrew under your bed all this time?” 

“I…” Michael looked down at his cat, not knowing what to say. “I don’t know… maybe Pettigrew could communicate with him?” 

“Well, if Cheshire is anything like Michael, it makes sense,” Harry said. “Pettigrew probably told him that Black was after him, how was Cheshire supposed to know who the real traitor was…” 

Michael smiled, stroking Cheshire, who was purring on his lap now. 

Crabbe and Goyle had joined their cabin moments later, telling them all about how they went looking for them and then saw Neville Longbottom almost fall out of the window. 

Draco bought a bunch of sweets from the Trolley Lady, and they talked and ate happily. 

Harry read and reread the letter from Sirius all the way back into King’s Cross station. It was still clutched tightly in his hand as he, Draco, and Michael stepped back through the barrier of platform nine and three-quarters. 

Harry spotted Uncle Vernon at once. He was standing a good distance from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, eyeing them suspiciously, and when Mrs. Malfoy hugged Harry in greeting, his worst suspicions about them seemed confirmed. 

“Harry, I don’t know if Draco has told you, but we’re going to see the World Cup during the holidays. We’ll write to you, okay?” 

Harry’s eyes widened. The World Cup? 

Before he could say anything, Draco bid them goodbye and followed after his parents. 

“Write in your journal… we’ll be going too,” Michael muttered, before Cedric appeared by his side and dragged him away. 

Harry waved, and then wheeled the trolley bearing his trunk and Hedwig’s cage toward Uncle Vernon, who greeted him in his usual fashion. 

“What’s that?” he snarled, staring at the envelope Harry was still clutching in his hand. “If it’s another form for me to sign, you’ve got another...” 

“It’s not,” said Harry cheerfully. “It’s a letter from my godfather.” 

“Godfather?” sputtered Uncle Vernon. “You haven’t got a godfather!” 

“Yes, I have,” said Harry brightly. “He was my mum and dad’s best friend. He’s a convicted murderer, but he’s broken out of wizard prison and he’s on the run. He likes to keep in touch with me, though… keep up with my news… check if I’m happy…” 

And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last. 

\-- Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire (Slytherin Edition) coming soon --


End file.
